you don't know me,
or where i come from
i move to the sound of my own
cymbals,
and dance to the beat of my own
drum.
i am beautiful, kind, and no one can
compare
when men drive pass me on the street
they always stop and stare.
is it the beauty of my skin,
or the kink of my hair?
perhaps it's the brown of my eyes
which interact with every sun glare.
or could it be the confidence in my walk?
so strong, i don't even need to talk.
