little black girl
whenever I see a little black girl, I can't help but stare
and wonder
when is the day she'll begin to hate her hair, her personal garden, her roots?
when will her mother hold her soft cheeks in her tired hands as she weeps, for the kids at school told her to go back to Africa?
when is the day she'll purchase the creamy crack, destroying her roots but believing she shouldn't go back?
when is the day her mind will succumb to the beautiful golden locks of rapunzel or the heat kissed hair of our own idols?
when is the day she'll stare in the mirror and think: i hate my blackness?
i ask not if there will be those days, but when
too many of us black women can relate
we've been taught not to love, only to hate
our garden, our history, our personal roots
afros are bad, being a ****** is not cute
if given the opportunity, will we stand together and rise?
will we tell little black girls their hair is not their demise?
My worth is not measured on what grows from my head
Your worth isn't lost if a white boy leaves you on read
our worth is embedded in our ancestors' sacrifice
love your hair and embrace this life