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black girl magic its suppression in this world is tragic the land of the free home of the enslaved
black girl magic its suppression in this world is tragic the land of the free home of the enslaved
Dear mane, I used to be ashamed to say that you’re mine On the playground, getting harassed with questions like: “Were you born with braids on your head?”, “How does it grow so fast?”,
spicy black butterfly, go on and rise. stretch your wings and take flight, fly high away through the days and into the night. despite what other insects may tell you , you are one of a kind, divine.
She’s not your normal mythShe doesn’t live in the clouds,However, her hair is made of them. She wasn’t cursed by a jealous lover, butShe was cursed by society. She doesn’t have tales to make you idolize her. 
It seems that Jehovah and Lucifer have compromised your passage To no longer suffer in this life with the facade of being “okay” Jubilation has come your way
Relief he feels and skin tan wilmington against firm pressed lips melanin “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend!” I’ve never wanted to say in person
The stars of your eyes glide over my life Your constellations have me hypnotized Fantasizing about your planets I blast rocket ships into your space
I am the seed birthed from two trees That separated when I was planted And made roots that somehow grew without water Basked in the sun to give me at least a century worth living
Black Queen Angry, irate, ghetto, depressed and oppressed That’s the stereotype they give us Loud talking hand clappin, ginger snappin’ wanna be heard sistas going
Honestly, your flaws make me wonder...  if you truly love yourself ,  If you truly adore your design,    Deep down inside,  There’s a place you always hide , 
black girl magic, black girl magic it's been days and days, because of you i'm stuck in a haze, it's starting to amaze me, we ain't doin amazin gotta keep it chill, gotta keep it real, cause I know the deal,
It's like a shadow. Falling beside me, but not on me. Or in me. "You're not mixed?" They ask with a questioning smile on their face.
I am not my hair! And yet in this world It can define me, But I love my hair and it's abilities But I don't like that society tells me
My identity came with those around me because the ink cartridges on my skin weren’t enough I am not black like the other black boys and girls
Give up Yahweh. Stop thinking That everything happens for a reason, That you’ll be rewarded for the good. Stop wondering If you’ll be punished for the bad.
Cheyann Washington_ connections / humanities   Is it okay?   Is it okay to call me out of my name? Like baby, Lil mama Screaming for my attention
Look at me.Let my skin tell you a story of pain and suffering, let my eyes give you sight and show you my history.
Growing up like any other kid i had to have “the talk”. You know the talk when they explain that people will automatically assume that your ignorant, thunderous, and bombastic because your 10 shades darker than them. Or you know the talk when you
  Young Black Girls seem to experience the most when it comes to Society Standards. Social Media has brainwashed us. We are at a constant battle trying to show our worth
Why do I write? I have inner thoughts that need to known... My exisitence is unkown... untill I put this pen to this paper and these words to this mic... 
My name is Elandra Rene From the distant planet of Chicago Right here on Southside       Don’t call my home, “Chiraq”… “Chi-Town”, “Chi-City”, or “The Windy City” will do just fine.
She sits in the room, with nothing to say, The kids make fun of her features and hair And she wonders, why they treat her this way? When ‘all men are equal’.. And it’s not fair
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