This poem is for the pretty girls
With pretty complexes which are
pretty complex pulled into mix up
Pretty fast and before they knew it became known as being pretty and fast
A poem for all the girls who are prejudged with assumptions because of their ass by assholes who pretend they didn’t just pre cum at the sight of her but can’t even ejaculate a pretty decent greeting besides pssssssstttttt
Really though? Like What ever happened to good evening?
Yes This is a poem for black girls in denial and the ones who are on trial for being too black, not black enough, sitting on the fence, sitting out of the sun, sitting under the sun, forever baking or otherwise bleaching, desperately hoping to break into the next brighter level, darker level, browner level, whichever level the scale slides on the shadeism circuit determining this years most exotized sexiest tone.
A poem for the straight haired, curly, colored weaved, wigs, all natural, afro, cane rolled, china bumped, extension, box braided, mowhawked with one side faded hair down to her ass, prompting to you to ask is that all yours, woman of color.
This is my tribute to the ones who are revolutionary in dialect, spit ebonics, no disrespect to the proper grammar speakers, country grammar speakers, have no grammar speakers, and the patois, creole and every dialect in between speakers, who seek truth & speak truth in the shadow of adversity, racism, sexism, sexually oppressive, sex slavism, battered woman syndromed, lesbian under fire….
For the mothers who carry children balanced on their hip while they try not to slip while balancing careers, households, communities, dreams, hopes and their own personal internal traumatic shit that they cleverly conceal inside their Alicia keys I am Superwoman, strong black woman armor, that no seems to see is cracking at the seams, and she just doesn’t have any hands left to grab a needle and thread to sow it any stronger
For all my women who are not ashamed of their experimentations, sexual healings and liberations, those who don’t fear being societal outcasts, incarcerated because their sex rap sheets are longer with more numbers than their male counter parts, for the girls who have a roster, one monogamous partner, maybe a third party when the time is right, better yet when the wine is right, have conquered the internal fight, debates on whether her sexual exploits make her a slut, a whore, a liberated sign of female sexual goddess or just a straight up G!
Finally this poem is for every sister that shares my story, same song, same issues must stay strong, never crack, don’t complain, mad black woman just for saying anything to a man, the man, big brother, black brothers, watching you, sometimes just not close enough to figure out how to love you without hurting you, hold you without controlling you, respect you, raise you up instead of bring you down, based on insecuritiess that are for the most part unfounded, so we just stay grounded in whatever we can, firmly rooted in our ability to day by day just be a black woman.