To Be a Black Girl Like Me

To be a black girl like me, 

Is to be free.

Sprinkling that shine, that strut and glitter…

Swaying my body when I walk, showing all my fronts when I talk…

To be a black girl like me,

Is to have that black girl magic I share with everyone! 

To have no hesitation of pride in my presentation…

To be a black girl like me,

Is to be proud of how my ancestors mash’up to create me, so how dare I look in the mirror and say I hate me? 

Through a slave trade I’m sure either great love or terrible pain was endured to create one that would later bare another to create my mothers, mother. 

A white man we can call Tom joined with a Native American woman named Mariah, to create a mothers mother that would bare my father. 

To be a black girl like me, 

A mixture of features that I myself barely understand… with this coily hair the color of sand. 

These ears and a nose fit for a King, for which children used to utter mean things. The thing that most ties me to my father… to hate myself for that? Life’s already too hard, why bother.

To be a black girl like me,

Is to have skin pale in the winter, then the summer it’s painted a red so deep you’d think I was the sinner of the week. 

Blemish free, soft like a worn out cotton tee. 

Why on earth would I hate me…?

To be a black girl like me,

Is to have a Face outlined in natural blonde hairs, with eyebrows that used to be scarce…

At 26 I hold full brown eyes betwixt my ears, my shape like my eyes I gathered from my mother. 

You’d think I wanted to be her…as I flip through pictures of myself I always see her.

To be a black girl like me,

Means sass, class and bravery for to be a black girl can be difficult. See we aren’t all bonded together like a religious cult. 

For our history has separated us, from house niggers to field niggers, to being relocated to the back of the bus, now presently theirs no common sisterhood no trust…

Who understands me better than her? The girl with skin like mine and hair that reaches toward the sun as mine does. The girl I don’t have to inform what it is or what it was…

No one, that’s who. Trying to replace her with Becky is no equal… constantly explaining to her what she can and can’t do. Why I’m not her nigga and why I won’t partake in a customary “Biiiihhh guess what”, simply because Becky you’re not Brenda like what the fuck! 

To be a black girl like me,

Is the only way to be… and that includes loving my fellow sista unconditionally. 

Because even though she may stare and glare, that’s customary “girl I love you!!” Is deep down in there. 

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