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Kaylin Aug 2019
Tell me what happens

When my skin is too dark for me to ever see the marveling history that is constructed into the color of brown

When the treasures buried beyond the surface of my skin is too deep for me to enamour

When my hair is too thick for my mind to wrap around the power that flows through generations of African royalty

Tell me what happens when a Black girl loses her magic?

Does her heart tremble with the leaving of her ancestors spirits?

Will her body be wrang dry of its glorified melanin?

Will men plant flowers where they use too love on her rubies and lick her precious pearls?

Will she look at her body and see in her heart is still where her magic swirls but because she looked for beauty in the world she casted upon herself a curse?

A curse that will plant seeds as long as she keeps watering her self hatred

You see

Black girl magic is what keeps our heads high even when our Black Privilege is limited our hands still reach for the sky

It makes pearl necklaces and diamond earrings out of our ancestors bones

It releases chains off a Black baby that's born because the system is already cocking their gun him at 1 day old

It  keeps her son alive in a place where Blacks were never welcomed saying "look my baby boy has grown" and he knows that even with chains on him, his momma told him "boy God got you, you is not alone"

Black girl magic is what keeps this world sane

So if a Black girl were to lose her magic what would she have to offer the world if heart is too incapable to gain?
Tashea Young Jul 2019
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!
Kaylin Apr 2019
Brown mahogany skin rich like forbidden soil of  Africa

Deep colored pigment that drips melanin

Angels rub coconut oil on your skin and harmonize with songs of your ancestors radiating from your bones

Open wounds filled with blood is replaced with fertile soil that holds the caskets of the Sun lovers

Coffee black skin can't get no darker, the sun rays make love to your skin

Wearing chains to wearing gold,
You are gold,
you shine even though your country doesn't see how much value is under that dark brown skin you wear

The stripping away of each woman's self-being because of society doesn't even tear at the flesh of your skin

We don't tear our skins,
they have already tore when the white man whipped us on our backs,
difference is we are healed

We stand as the healing replica of our ancestors,
we stand as the freedom they spoke from their tongues

Bitter dark chocolate turned sweet,
our body is displayed with authority,
this is what the white woman is now trying to be

Your Thick hair, thick thighs, curvy waist, black is the beauty of you no longer afraid to hide

Every single shed of brown skin was ripped away from our mother land,
We are in a land that's someone else's mother land

Our bodies reside in a uninvited place where we play house

Brown faces all over known magazines,
It's our season

They say the times are over of picking cotton seeds,
whenever a black baby is born another black body is hanged off a poplar tree

Our skin may be black but we still shine in the dark

One day the soil will cradle our skins and bones ripped and passed from our ancestors

We will be sent to a place where ears will be filled with Whitney Houston and Karyn White

Where the smells of cocoa butter will dance in our nose

Where the amount of black skin releases so much melanin that the white man is overpowered

Where coffee black skin won't be kissed by the sun because the light is already radiating from us

We will be in a place where our mahogany black skin isn't forbidden
Lauren Lowery Apr 2019
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.
moziq Jul 2017
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.
Kayla Oct 2016
I create hurricanes while I sleep
I destroy landscapes for entertainment when I'm bored.
My smile has been rumored to awaken dormant volcanoes.
The sway of my hips could be mistaken for a mudslide
And the way that I make love will make you think the tectonic plates learned a new dance move.
I'm a walking natural disaster.
And after we're done you can say you survived it all

— The End —