colorism
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I only had eyes for you
The way your cheeks turned raw
At the slightest inconvenience
And your eyes gently watered
At every scolding
I’m not Black enough
Yet my hair grows like a crown atop my head
Watered with the tears of my ancestors
Who used their crowns to guide them to freedom
To the non-Afro-Latinos who think they can the n-word:
There is no black pass, when there’s no pass from being black.
When you say the word, you devour a piece of me
Mine, the color of salted toffee
Hers, a delicate cream
The perfect layer of latte foam
That lowers my self-esteem
Or maybe it's more of a porcelain white
Only opinion knows
The chains you often wore around your neck, are the chains
That were wrapped around your ancestors necks, arms, and legs
The hatred you wore so proud upon your neck was the same
Dear black men,
Who like to quack
About us females being
Too black
Comparing us to
“Tip of a match”
I bet
Paint me a world where girls sustain from mirrors, where love is not weakness, and forgiveness is not taken for blame.
Black Girls, you are one with the earth
Black Girls, they like to hit you where it hurts
Black Girls, your skin is not dirt
Getting named called from my own fucking community is hard.
Laugh at me
For my black shade
For my black hair
For my black face
Oh she too dark.
Oh she too picky.
Oh she too skimpy.
And her hair looks nappy.
But she looks at herself...
And she thinks happy.
She ain’t wimpy.
More so
Out here getting
Can you hear me now?
If you can’t I can only wonder how
Why is it the only way to get your attention?
There once was a beautiful queen
She had skin like honey,
eyes like emerald,
and hair as big as cotton candy.
She was so beautiful
and kings traveled far and wide to make her their bride.
When I was a child I was told that I was black but not black black. I didn't quite fit into the pre-packaged, tick-one-only boxes society had for me. Which made it difficult when trying to find my place.
I pledge allegiance to the Racism of the United States of America,
and to the Rich, White, and Wealthy for which it stands,
one Nation under a Christian God,
divisible,
It didn't use me for my brain,
It didn't use me for my love,
It didn't use me for the way I watch and listen to the birds in the sky,
It used me for my White.
It loved you for your voice,
All my life I had to fight
All my life I had to fight
I fought
My family
The people I thought were my friends
Even that fool down the street
I'm sorry my hair offends you
im sorry its puffy curls block your view
you made me feel ashamed when i had cornrows in while being so young but now you call them boxer braids
She's a god among many
With her swift toungue
Her independent success
Give you the vibe she was stung
Her low self esteem
Fueled by her curly serpents
Assimalation causes her to perm
You become obsessedwith papaya soap.12 years old.
Pampaputi,they say.for your armpits.for your elbows.for your knees.for your…body.
I feel the burn of the smelly and strong relaxer on my head
The chemical takes hostage of each of my natural curls and permanently damages it
I’ve always felt the need to be lighter
In my 6th grade they always called me black girl
They said my dark skin would never be as beautiful as their almond colored flesh
I believed them
I’m black I promise I am
I love fried chicken
Mac and cheese
Collard greens
Watermelon? My taste buds say no
But don’t take my black card just yet
A black guy once told me that I'm "not his type"
"Nah," he said. "I don't fuck with them black girl types".
He said he likes them Spanish types, them mixed chick types, them white girl types, them "exotic" types.
Blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.
Blacker the berry, the deeper the roots.
Blacker the berry, the more it's dehumanized by its own kind.
Blacker the berry, the more it's harder to find.
One brown paper bag.
It all started with one brown paper bag
Against the charcoal of Mother Africa
And the sandpaper of Nefertiti,
And the rift grew into a canyon.
The cocoa-drenched emperors
What is she?What is she?High Yellow? Or black?The mother looks at her child.The newborn looks back.Skin dark as charcoal,Light brown eyes,What a sight!
"Wassup G, why you frontin'? Ain't we gon hit up your homeboy Jermaine today?"
Laughter bubbles up from amongst my classmates as I try to emulate their ebonics
the poppies
I walked along the trail I traveled frequently.
Why did all the poppies die?
Is it because the sky did not cry for their sorrows and the grew bitter and dried up?
My skin
cannot find its’ purpose
in newspapers
uncomfortable
it makes you
ashamed
guilt makes you look dirty
little girl
played slavery when she was seven
tar baby
