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Final Mixed Bag

Kick Racism out of Football

My ancestors were victims of the slave trade.
That is how black footballers came and played.

Football is my favourite game.
But some people shout and call me names.

They say things behind my back.
Just because my skin is black.

People are all the same no matter what their colour.
I wish people thought that of each other.



They call me names when I'm playing.
They hurt my feelings with what they're saying.
They hurt me with their attacks.
They pick on me because I'm black.

I only want to do my best.
I just wish they'd treat me like the rest.
How could they all be so mean.
I thought they supported this team.

They shout at me all through the game.
It drives me insane.
There are some nasty people in the crowd.
They make me want to cry out loud.

When do you think it will sink in?
That I'm not different because of the colour of my skin.




  


 

 Latest poems by:
 Brockworth 2002
 or  see all poems by
 Brockworth 2002

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