No stones no bullets, this is a mental battle for those who believe humanity deserves better.

As I approach the end of my teen years, lucky to be standing at six-foot-two

Mummy not holding my hands any more, I walk down the same street as I did at two

A lot has changed, I wonder if only for me, as old ladies clutch their purses when I pass

Men step aside to let me pass, afraid of why I walk so fast-

No sir I am just late for a football match!

The cops got a keen interest in me; I wish it was all about protecting me

Then I realise these streets haven’t changed at all, it’s my life which has changed coz I grew so tall

Thanks a lot project growing up black; you have made me a potential ‘dubious lad’.

I’m quite grateful that high school is over, the looming threat of exclusion is done

Those days were filled with so much terror, as my Moma cried buckets to save me from error

I punched a boy once because he said I looked like poo, a dozen witnesses I thought I had

Only to spend the rest of the year being branded a thug.

I tried fighting and fighting to make things right, but learnt in the end that I was headed for a ditch

For the sake of my Momma I swallowed my fury; returned to my books and accepted to be puny

This is the a story of many a coloured boy, whose voice is unheard and steps misunderstood

He rises from this predictable hollow, his voice is stronger, he is a master of his steps

No longer will he let someone else claim his space, among the 7 billion God has made

No stones no bullets, this is a mental battle for those who believe humanity deserves better.

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