I'm almost twenty, you know.
I mean, I'm sure you don't care
but i'm almost twenty years old.
And I'm trying.
To be all the things you said i would be
and I'm not going to question
all the rules you've set out for me
because i need that foreboding affirmation of love so just know that I'm never gonna leave.
Because were it not for you, who would i be?
But I'm also struggling
To figure out if I am actually a talented artist
Or just some teenage kid going through stuff. i need
To see the answers at the back of the book of Life if there's such a thing
I feel. Oh Lord! I feel tired already. Like i could quit
But i can't I'm already nineteen years into this ****.
And I'm already tryna make people take me seriously.
And I'm trying.
To pretend that i understand why old people are so entitled to an earth that might actually be revolting against the human race
That i know, why it is super ultra important to be the kind of feminist that is kind to misogynists
That i even want, to be part of an existence that so closely resembles a shitshow
That i even know, how to turn my feelings into a proper rhyme. I don't.
Honestly and i don't care.
So i won't even try
to pretend that woke mans are not the ****
and that i don't think, gay people deserve peace
and that I don't wish, child marriages was something i could fix
and that i don't think, that I'm going to marry an intersectional feminist
and that i don't think, that instead of vows he's going to recite to me his poetry
and that i actually need you to tell me that these are all teenage fantasies.
I don't. I've had nineteen years of this ****.
And i’m just glad i don't have to pretend
That i love pink , i do even though i wish i didn't
And that i know i can take nineteen more years if only it means
More badly written poetry from beautifully imperfect teens
And more African literature and Twitter and sleep
More discussions with bae about the importance of memes
More inventive ways to show bae i exist.
I might be getting carried away but you see what i mean.
That i want everything this life has to give
Just no struggles. no pretence.no assumptions. and no guilt.
Turning 20 on Monday and honestly i might be going insane.
Being a girl is hard
But being a black girl...
Let me tell you about being a black girl
Pick your poison
Or falling for " European Beauty Standards"
" Why are you so quiet?"
Do you expect me to be aggressive
And snap my fingers in an A-Z formation
Light Skin is the best skin
Or so they say
I'm jealous of my brother, for his caramel skin
Oh what I'd do for that caramel skin
You think that's the worst of it but have you see ****?
Cute girl makes love to -insert famous **** star here
Ebony b-itch gets banged till she squirts
Which would you rather watch?
If you ever turned on a TV you'd see reality shows with the perfect blue eyed blond hair cast and the one black kid who doesn't get enough attention
Ever since Rachel was the Bachelorette I too prayed one day I'll find the man of my dreams
Have you ever had a crush on someone and ever think if they even like girls your skin color?
Being a girl is hard
But being a black girl
Oh let me tell you about being a black girl
A spew of thought about being a black girl in todays society not feeling "good enough" or loved.
The day the ships came my ancestors we not of the aware of the forced melting *** that would come into existence
The combination of french and spanish confused the delta slaves
Little did they know that neither language would stick on their burnt excuses of tongues
The days the ships came New Orleans became the beacon of mulatos
And although the conquistadors could **** and beat their slave wives
Their spanish advances were not reciprocated due to lack of of heat to complete the melting
The languages that conquered the delta were combined into something that no outsider would want to encounter
That’s why the Americans came and took it like they did the rest of the country
They mistake the magic for voodoo then rebranded it for themselves
Centuries later the delta is still a melting ***
But it’s one my grandmother’s tongue was forced to forget
Her languages were lost next to her mulatto slave ancestors, left to spoil
So now when people ask
“If you’re hispanic why can’t you speak spanish?”
I can barely find the words in english to explain the years of torture my tongue has endured
When spanish speaking couples walk into my work
My tongue is eager to spill words it wishes it had the ability to create
My blood begins to hate itself over the fact that a third of itself is unrecognizable
My tongue is still waiting for the new boats to arrive and reconcer it
All it knows is to be conquered
No self defense here
When all you know is to be conquered
It becomes a challenge to think for oneself
My tongue can’t decide if english, spanish or french is better
My creole mind is yelling thousands foreign curse words not knowing which one is a true sin
Maybe the sin here is letting the burner stay on too long
The day the ships came
My slave ancestors looked at their spanish lovers and said
“My love, what shall we do once the french arrive?”
With their eyes looking into the horizon the conquistadors replied
“Es no problema para mi, pero tu, tu es la propiedad de estos”
Which according to simple history books means
If only your skin was a lighter shade
Here, this bleach might come to your aid
If only your lips weren't so full
Maybe the boys would like you at school
If only your hair wasn't so *****
Here's some caustic chemicals to make it more slinky
If only your ******* weren't so large
Here's the number to a surgeon, call and see what they charge
If only your waist was smaller (just a few inches)
Here's a corset, see how tiny it cinches?
If only your *** wasn't so round
How 'bout you run some laps to lose a few pounds?
If only you'd get your nose out of books
I bet you'd garner more stares for your looks
If only you'd change your curious personality
I hear the masses prefer banality
If only you'd see me for me
Do you know how content I'd be?
If you can't do that
Then leave me be.
A collection of things people have said to me over the years. I have developed a cynical complex because of it.
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the *******-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.
Abortions will not
Let you remember the child
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
My skin is infused with rich melanin
Shining, glistening in the light
My lips are plump echoeing the song
Beautiful a capella, melody strong
The sweet honey stare of my eyes
Looking up at the heavens into the skies
My natural hair it never flows
A blooming flower it still grows
The span of my hips so wide
Up and down in confidence I stride
Because I am black.
I am beautiful.
This is a poem i did today
— The End —