You feed me the word oreo

And expect me to fill full

Satisfied with the sugar

You want my big lips to curl around the word

My fiery tongue made sweet by the “compliment.”

“You’re not like other black girls.”

As if adding a little milk makes my shade of

Chocolate easier to digest


My mother always told me to hold my name

In my mouth, like it was tabasco



Never to be made sweet with sugar and spice

And everything nice

Sugar and passion don’t mix

Sweet and explosive don’t mix

Oreos and tabasco don’t mix

Everyone suggests plugging it in milk

Extinguish the fire

Surround the chocolate with milk

And tell the chocolate wit it was never meant to be tasted anyway


In my vanilla wafer hometown

The best way to make me uncomfortable in my own skin

Is to call me an oreo

The word was dressed as flattery

And my tongue would extinguish its fire for its sugar.


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