My nose is too broad
And my hips are too wide
My big lips swollen with stories
About my lack of self-pride.

I can’t buy cheap makeup,
Flesh plasters or tights
But I can’t really moan
‘Cause I got civil rights.

Right?
Left.
I see the bold stare.
She masks her intrigue with kindness
Then ruffles my hair.

I’m told that I’m different
Then told I’m the same.
But when push turns to shove
It’s myself who’s to blame.

Weaves mean I crave white
Curls, hidden from view.
And everyone’s a critic
In this real human zoo.

I’m exotic and feisty
Though I’m from where you live.
Should I just play along?
Or move on and forgive?
My curves are so ghetto
But it’s what most girls crave.
It belongs to everyone, but me
And that’s the path that we pave.

Fetishized by the pale
But ignored by my own.
Lord, what did I do?
To deserve this skin tone?

“I’ve never been with a Black chick”.
I say: “Neither have I”.
If that’s all we have in common,
My humour runs dry.

I’m forced to smile at old strangers
So they don’t cross the street.
When paranoia takes over,
I stare down at my feet.

I shouldn’t need to remind you
That we all bleed dark red.
But when pixels and spin divide us,
It’s my flesh left for dead.

So what can I do
To soothe this 300-year itch?
Nothing, just take it!
You angry, Black *****.