Sometimes I feel uncomfortable in my own skin
It's like this chocolate shell is slowly killing me from within
Sometimes I think about taking up that cream and bleaching my skin
But it's only gonna lighten my complexion while the light inside me is still dim
Sometimes I wonder why I get left behind just because I'm not light
I mean we're from the same race, aren't we supposed to unite?
sometimes I think something is wrong with me because I'm not light
I guess the lighter girls at school feel sorry for me which is why they act so contrite
People pick up the book entitled me and they see a dark-skinned girl who is free
And they just put it down because they can't bother to read
But I don't want someone who worries about the knots in my hair and the cornrows
I want someone who's not afraid to run their fingers in the knots of my soul
So why can't you love me for my big lips and round brown eyes
And my wide hips and shapely thighs
Why cant you see that I'm beautiful, I'm confused
Don't you know that I reflect you in all my hues
Brown, caramel, black and all that's in between
We're all just the same if you know what I mean.

I have learned,
people leave you
cold and broken
like my youth
and the only thing
that will ever stay
in my life
is that pen
and that pad of paper.

because my sanity
means more to me
than pleasing others
and my sanity
can only stay
if that pen and pad
are next to me

so take away my
so-called friends
lost inside
never empty pill bottles
and always empty
bottles of sorrow
and remind me why
this is what i cling to.

this is my far few in between
this is my light
at the end
of a never lit tunnel.
This is where misery
and it's company
join hands and dance
in the moonlit
darkness of the past.

The only thing
I've ever held close to me,
was anger and resentment
for those who i'm supposed to love
I find fatal flaw
where there isn't any
I look for wrong
in those who try to do me right
which is why I write.
because the only form
of therapy available to me
costs sixty bucks an hour
and that hour
holds more secrets
than my mind
will allow me to speak.
So I bleed ink
and hope that some sense
of relief
flows through my fingertips
like the weight upon my shoulders

and the only thing
worth fighting for
in my eyes
are the things
that are fighting with me.
Which is why people
come and go.
But blank pages
are always meant to be filled.

His wife said, you’re too
Nice to people, too

**** nice, you ought to
Be like Rocky; he

Don’t take no **** from
People, he tells them

Where to get off and
Is down their throats far

Quicker than they can
Say, boo boo, but you,

You’re just too nice, you
Even open doors

For dames and give them
The big friendly smile,

And give them the bright
Eyed sparkle. He let

His wife’s words float on
By like butterflies,

Focussed on the art,
His word management,

Giving form to his
Notions, painting out

Scenes, putting plots to
New ideas, and for

Another thing, his
Wife added, what’s with

The dame in the ****
Photos everywhere?

Who’s she? In the frame
By the bed, on your

Cell phone, tucked away
In your pocket book?

Are you some kind of
Religious fruit? He

Looked at his wife (she
Was a looker, had

A nice face and cute
***) and watched her mouth

Move, saw her tongue, like
Some small snake go in

And out and how fine
Her eyes were in the

Morning sun, how they
Shone some, and he said,

You know, your mouth moves
Quite prettily, your

Lips, they’re like parting
Thighs and how I just

Love the way your head
Tilts slightly to one

Side just like some odd
Inquisitive bird,

And by the way, the
Dame in the photos

Is St Therese, and
She’s just there to bring

Me comfort and to
Remind me how pure

And heaven sent a
Woman can be and

That there is more to
Women than meets the

Eye, but his wife stood
And shook her head, and

Not another word
By his wife was said.

If I told you that I wrote this
from the love I have for you
would you give it a second glance
would you read this whole poem through
would you look at me and just "tsk tsk"
this simply just won't do
If I wrote I until I could no more
would you read this
or would you still ignore
the me that was with you
through the times we used to adore
and would you go back to your house
hop into bed and begin to snore.
Even though its the middle of the day.