History Teacher

I am me, I am everyone, I am no one, a chameleon without a color. I have no history, I am everyone's history. I see Rasta man and I AM Rasta man vibrating to a reggae beat, moving past tin roof shacks, moving through a sunlit world, more than happy to leave my own. Suddenly I am pulled to rolling plains and a sweet water river. Out alone, there comes a vision, a people stranded in a winter nightmare of, Gatling guns and frozen leaders. The steady drums fade into celestial drums and clashing cymbals, a dragon dancing, families strong and celebrating. While in a prison far away women are forced fed for defying an archaic system and win. Suddenly it is 1943 and here is where I want to be, on Central Ave in L.A., in late night sessions with Nat, and T-Bone and Charles Brown. My chameleon soul keeps turning me around and taking me to sights and sound that I cannot claim to be my own. I am me, I am every one, I am no one.