Dear Amy

The sun is smiling at you
The beach calls you
Why are you hiding ?!
You're so beautiful, put on your bikini now and go show off your body.
Are not you shaved?
Your hair on the body is not sin, it was God who put it there.
Show the skin, show the veins show your face.

Dear Amy

Your face is so beautiful your skin and so lush, but remember what I told you?
You're more than that.
Your beauty will pass by one day your lush skin will have wrinkles.
But your mind and your brain will  have knowledge forever.

Dear Amy

I like your legs I like your body, I like to see you in every way.
You do not need them to find you ****.
Put that lingerie on you and show me those stretch marks.

Look in the mirror and say:

Damm! My stretch marks make me a mermaid.
My weight makes me happy and  I was not made to follow standards.

Beauty standards  weaken me
And I'm a woman
I'm not weak.

I was born strong and no one is going to take that away from me.

I was not born to please those who do not care about me.
I am confident and I make of my scars experiences.
You need to hear this truth.
You do not owe anyone your body.
You do not owe anyone your sanity.
And even if you change, you will never please everyone.
The only  person who has to be  pleased is me.
Today wash your face and leave the makeup, show the freckles, let the skin breathe.
But tomorrow if you want to put your lipstick red and slay.
Do not let them steal your freedom.
You are a butterfly.
 Free yourself
And fly.

Dear Amy

Stop selling your brain girl.
Stop selling your sanity.
They do not deserve the prominence you give them.
Remember that you have fire inside.

Seek  for yourself   in the midst of your imperfections, date with your insecurities.

You need them  to feel alive.
Do not give them the pleasure of controlling your brain.
You are selling your feelings to leeches.
Nobody is perfect.
Accept this .
They do not want to know what you feel.
They want to rob you of the right to speak.
Take the shine you have inside you
And let it flow.

I come home alone yet again.

I tell myself time and time again that I do not need somebody to complete me - that I am perfect all on my own.

That doesn't mean I don't want to curl up next to someone at the end of the day and melt in their arms - to feel the safety net, the warmth and pure love of companionship.

Just like anybody else, I want that kind of love.

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have been so selective. Maybe if I would have just "gotten used to his flaws" or "moved past his agressive tendencies" I would be in bed right next to you.

I know I deserve greatness. I am told this time and time again, so much so that I almost believe it.

But you know what my greatness is? It's being independent, strong, and brilliant while still knowing I can depend on someone. It's being brave, kind, and fearless while still knowing that someone will always be there to have my back. It's having faith, caring for others, and demanding nothing but the best and having the one who matters the most show me that even imperfections are perfect.

I want an ambitious love. One that shows the movies how to be. One that gives a new name to inseparable. I know it's a lot to ask for - which is why I am still alone. Maybe I ask too much or maybe too many people fall short of greatness in my eyes.

I demand nothing but the most perfect imperfections.

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

The roses bloom around a house
Reaching over the roof and into the clouds
The thorns pierces the windows
And the roots becomes the floor I stand on

The living room becomes uninhabitable
With glass shattered on the sofa,
The TV split into two
And the air becoming unbreathable

The kitchen is full of insecurities
With rotting food in the fridge,
The missing knifes found in the tub,
And the family table with lost chairs

As a family we protect a single room
The walls are covered with mirrors
Gifted invincibility by our imagination
We stare at our reflection in wonder

Our shoulders are back
Confidence in our eyes
Our head is held high
And into the clouds

We became lost in our protection
Unable to see what is below
Until the dark and bright clouds part
Allowing the star to pierce the sky

It's is a fact that when there is more light
Our shadows become fed
Growing darker than before
And whispers into our ears

We believed we were giants
Taller than our house
And one with the roses
Wanting to seek the blue sky

Instead we trapped ourselves into the clouds
Becoming lost children
Who ignored the open window
And got pricked by a rose

We were smaller than our disguise
Once there was nothing left to compare to
Light shun into the room of mirrors
Leaving a broken family in sight

But we were all addicted
To the beauty of the roses
Who petals became clouds
And the stems that became ladders

Symmetry deficits call for chiaroscuro.
Highlight the summits,
and diffuse shadows at the vertex
of cheekbone and mandible.
Colour the apples, rubescent as newborn flesh,
and soften edges for a gentle definition.

If you paint claret from bow to corner
it can create something fuller; induce desire-
Valencia can bleach the blemishes.
Liquid or matte lies in pesky furrows
and rots like carrion in warm weather:
remember to blot excess sebum prior.

Are you pneumatic? Applications can support you-
with enough you can acquire
something ample for a decade.
Look to the lens. It winks;
raise brow in a clean cut, diagonal
from nostril edge: the playful frame apertures admire.

Flash.

Share with friends:
refresh/close/open,
and sigh at affirmations.

This body will never be beautifully at rest

I will always have to **** in my stomach to appear graceful
I will always have to lift my chin to slim my jawline
I will always force my collarbones forward
I will always lift my elbows to keep my arms from splaying against my body
I will always push my hips back to have that coveted thigh gap
I will always wear heels to define my calves
I will always cover my skin in paint and color
I will always force my hair to lay sweetly covering parts of my face
I will always cover the scars I gave myself trying to be beautiful
I will always
I will always
I will always

I will never be at rest.