'beautiful black woman' 'myself ' 'being me' 'confident' acceptance 'identity'
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In the tapestry of my skin's diverse array,
Cheekbones structured a unique display.
My Melanated Beautiful, a chorus to sing,
A celebration of the hues that my complexion brings.
What's the point in being black if I have to hide it like a disease? If I wear my vocabulary like a fac
What's racing through my veins is the blood of my ancestors. They offer me gifts of innovation and storytelling. Drum vibration causing me to stand with my voice. Change is coming panic in fear my lord promised I am blessed.
She’s THAT Black girl
The one trapped in the borderlands of what it means to be Black and Woman
Her hypervisibility causes her to remain unseen
And her experiences leave her in between, her story left unheard
When I saw the flower, it had already been picked
I saw its roots
Dark and full and filled with dust
Yet still visible
I saw its stem
You simply are not black enough
That's what the masses say
Although black is what I see in the mirror everyday
Handshakes, dance trends, neck rolls too
But without all that, I'm still just like you
To the Person I was I was self-hating, self absorbed I was a follower I was shy I was quiet I was invisible To the Pearson I am now I am curious I am outspoken I am socially aware I am not sleeping anymore I am the black girl with the fist up The
