Itâs 1998 I am a boy with le ann rhymes singing between my toes
Trembling in front of the girl I nicknamed beauty, I canât breathe.
Itâs 1995, I am Oklahoma. The cool kids plant bombs when they donât see me interact with girls
The art of drowning is half-ridden behind my bad ear when they call me faggot
I wonder if I am capable of loving girls or if theyâll continue crumbling in my hands
Itâs yesterday, I realize the glass torch from bones only exist if I let it
For the first time I try to breathe
Itâs now, a river touches my hand, Chicago is burning
Itâs 1994, I am a boy set aflame, attacked for the Nancy Kerrigan in my walk
The small plane crashing into the White House behind my eyes, the Forrest Gump in my voice
The way I held Philadelphia as if she were about to crumble
Itâs now, this girl calls me cute, but I have only ever been ugly
Itâs 1991, I am a brown boy in a white school, being harassed with a flag, and the sand, and the tan I have burned into my skin.
They have nicknamed me Rodney
Itâs now, we both want silk and forever
But itâs 2005, I am New Orleans lying naked on my back listening to my first lover Katrina whisper
âYou are only here for the wet of me, nobody will ever love you like thisâ
Itâs now, this woman tells me she wants to be my wife
But itâs 1991, my mother places a knife in my hands and tells me to cast it in her
Like the smart bombs and the war on T.V.
It 1989, I am called the death of Anthony Sears by my aunts and cousins
Itâs 1991, my mother has nicknamed me Dahmer, my mother is crumbling.
Itâs now, this woman tells me she wants to be my wife, but all I can see, is her crumbling.