As a young girl I was always expected to do as I was told.
Don’t be too loud, don’t talk back, don’t appear to be sassy or bold.
Mind your manners, hold your tongue, there is no space for being rude.
Tone it down, cover it up, we don’t want your black girl attitude.

Forced into boxes with no space to move.
Restricted and restrained with everything to prove.
Constantly combatting the narrative they paint.
Making us look like animals while they look like saints.

We are said to be angry, bitter and loud.
Troublesome, uneducated, following the crowd.
Masculine, impute, stubborn and broken.
Accessories, trophies that ”one” friend, the token.
These strings of disrespect will no longer be allowed.
I don’t care if I’m not polished enough, I’m unwilling to be cowed.

Take back your subtle hate and blatant prejudices all wrapped up in a bow.
Served on a platter with fluffy words of disapproval and the saying “that’s just the way things go”.

They say we are stubborn, unmovable and complacent.
Well , consider how our feelings are always compartmentalized and latent.
Our cries go unheard, our request are unmet.
No one to protect us, left on our own to fret.

This debt that we carry is too much to bare.
It’s just as heavy as the onus that  we all have to share.
We are ethereal, complex and fed up with your satire.
You can have whatever you think of me, I’m done being your Sapphire.

Dear Black girl
I love the graceful like movement of which you twirl
You are One of the only Real jewels in this delusional world
I love the Density of your mind and how it adds volume to the thickness of your Beautifully defined curls
I love the way The infinite comic skies glow within your diamond filled moonlight eyes
It’s like Watching the Sun set and Rise
You embrace your Inner G You speak your  colorful native tongue in vibes
So fluently
Pure Energy
You Are A frequency and you flow to the wave of your own ride
Black Girl I love the way your bodacious figure carries that sacred space called heaven safely between your thunderous thighs
I love The way your skin gives life to that blissful Melanin that let’s the world know you were sculpted and crafted straight from the Divine’s hands and placed into the womb of heaven
You are A Joyous Blessin’
There’s No Guessin
A whole Garden, a Goodness Of Perfection
There’s no word or picture that can capture the Power of your Magnificent Essence
You carried this deep within the fibers of your being every since you were just an adolescent
A Temple Of Gold
Walking Tall and Bold
That no naked eye could behold
Just So **** Mesmerizing and Beautiful!
You’ve been chosen from the vine like grapes to unfermented wine.
Never to age but the savoring flavor of your nature’s nectar it just gets better over time!

There came a point in my life where the world was forever changed in my eyes,
As a child, I struggled to see our differences.
Imagine walking up the steps of the 102 floors in the Empire State Building on a scorching summer day, having to stop to take long breaths and finding it hard to breathe,
While others easily take the elevator and don’t break a sweat.
This concept baffled me, like an author with writer’s block,
They don’t know what to write next as I don’t know how to move forward with this new information.
Suddenly, I began to wonder if my friends knew what I knew
And if they knew, do they look at me differently because of our differences?
This changed my perspective on the “perfect” world that I thought I was living in.
What really makes us so different though?
Is it our intelligence? Or is it our skin tone? Is it our history? Or is it just a general society belief?
As I got older, people began to openly make me aware of our differences.
The harsh, cruel words I received aggravated me, but I would not let them see my weaknesses.
I am aware of what makes us different now, but I refuse to let that change who I am.
Although my differences can be seen as a bad factor to some, I see them as something great,
An opportunity to glow, shine, and be the best version of myself.

Look at me.Let my skin tell you a story of pain and suffering, let my eyes give you sight and show you my history. And it's odd to me because as history goes I know of her struggle but not her name, my great grandmama's face, nor my great grandfather stern gaze. My history was ripped from me then handed back in a textbook, like a stolen jewel being given back as a gift from its captors. They try to cultivate and appropriate my culture like it's a shirt that fits them better. You asked me what I'm mixed with because you see my blackness as something to be covered. But my blackness is not ***** that needs a chaser, it is not a ***** car that needs a little whitewashing and a paint job.
You asked me what I'm mixed with so here is my response; I am mixed with melanin and love swlirled into chocolate beauty. I'm mixed with strength and pride, fierce do I roar with the voice of the wise ancestors who gave birth to hope for my grandma, my mommy, and me. I am one part black and ninety nine parts victory. I am not a tragedy of circumstance I am a product of excellence. You ask me if I am mixed because you think I'm to pretty to just be black. Here's a news flash, I am pretty because I'm black! From the kinks of my curls to the dance in my toes, I am designed from the roots of the earth. In tune with its gravitational pull.
Everyone knows the moon only shines in the blackness of night. Stop trying to force an eclipse because they don't last anyway, only burn out to be surrounded by the blackness once more. You asked me what I'm mixed with, allow me the same courtesy. Are you mixed? What are you mixed with? Fear, hate, rage, disgust, or shame? I don't assume any of these for a wise woman once said, " people are diamonds made up of different pressure some in different measures and if you don't know don't judge for it is not your contest." I am on a conquest of love and redemption. I won't blame you for your ancestors but I will hold you to a certain standard.
So before you ask me what I am mixed with, think. Does it even matter?pretty is pretty so don't you dare come at a Nubian goddess cross eyed or tongue-tied, prepared to gain insight of her bloodline. She will shatter all illusion, destroy all thoughts of doubt. She will tell you she is black. She will say it in a song song voice because of the melody ringing in her soul when she makes this known. It will roll off her tongue like honey. For no other words ever tasted so sweet. She is a black queen. Mixed with blood and bones.