Woman.

Black Girl.

Dear black girl,
People will tell you that melanin is a curse,
That your kinks and curls aren't exactly beautiful,
That your brown skin isn't as lovely as it is on a white girl,
That your naps are tumble weeds in a desert no one wants to be lost in.
That your hips are spread wide for a man to use,
That your breasts aren't for feeding your children,
But for a man to desire.

Dear black girl,
A man will tell you that you're just a little too dark to be loved,
Yet dark enough to want to fuck.
Your skin soft like the pillows of clouds they wish to bounce upon,
That shea butter sure came in handy.
A man will tell you that your body is for looking,
Your mouth is not for speaking,
But for his pleasure,
And you mind is as unwanted as the trash that crowds their lawn.

But babygirl,
Your body is not for their pleasure,
Your mouth was made to speak the venom your ancestors fought against,
Your skin soft, yes it is,
But it holds the thorn that prick the very men that turn their backs on you.
Your breasts brace the milk of your children,
Your mind occupies the cells made out to change this catastrophe,
Your lips kissing with honey,
Yet your words stinging like bees protecting their queen.
So black girl,
Know that your melanin drips with courage, and with pain.
Know that your melanin disregards the feelings of those who tried to poison you.
Know that your melanin is so deep,
So deep,
That any man that dares to hurt you will be damned.