young girls
she wont coat her throat in propylene glycol
spray Lysol
sanitize her temple lest it might fall
below the standards of Mike or Paul
she speaks now as a child of the earth
unrehearsed
so dont search in her verses for persecution
or assume the size of her purse,
besides, what’s a Burkin to the salty saliva of Miss Caspian Sea
or browned arms reaching toward summer’s leafy trees?
the icicles dripping from rooftops in her city
certainly don’t pity zippers and seams
you can’t smooth on an olive complexion
with lotions or potions or a tanning booth
or rip grassy body hair by the roots till we’re smooth
we are not a template for you to choose, we are 2k youth
we are young girls
who don’t need to raise fists
when they call us a bitch
or do it for the vine
we are undefined
our milky edges curve wide as the sky
whether skin holds handfuls of extra affection
to cushion our fragile internal reflections
or xylophone ribs poke right through to the touch
a woman is never too little or much.
we are precious as delicious fruit strung ripe on trees
so dont reach twist or pluck us away from our dreams
I don’t care if you like what you see
I doesn’t praise you, I praise the dirt beneath my feet
we includes me
and I am flawless,
I am free.