Oreo
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
Explosive
Passionate
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.