I'm Retching On The Dirt

I'm retchin g on the dirt,
It's earthiness coating my throat.
I'm wincing on the bitterest pill.
I refuse to swallow.
I'm offered the warm of avelvet gloves,
An iron fist to some.
I'm treated like a scab.
A traitor to my kind.
I'm hounded by white-right might
That wants the country pure.
I'm licensed by those in awe
of 'living amongst their own'.
Selective perfection will cut their own throats!
I'm constantly forcing the point,
But we're all retching on dist,
And we'll choke if we don't spit it out!