Reddened eyes
Up all night
Baby in one arm
Briefcase in the other
Strolling down the street
“Hey bitch, can I have your number?”
Hold up, pause,
“Is that how you speak to your mother?”
The language that drips from your lips is so vile for this woman of color
It gots to be that black girl magic that keeps us from going under
It’s wicked how we’re rejected and disrespected because of our melanin
Yet, you have those of the lighter persuasion trying to
Walk like us
Talk like us
Look like us
Be like us
But they can’t
See, they can’t relate to this struggle
Baby, it wasn’t always in
And this kinky hair
Doused in relaxers and flatirons
Taking care of your kids with nothing but peanut butter in the fridge
Let’s not forget little Amy receiving that position that you’ve earned
Being taught to watch your mouth to persevere that man’s ego
Ergo, I must be little miss submissive in order for him to be attentive
But, sweetheart, listen
Everything has an expiration date
And those days and times are over
Exude that black girl magic that lies within
Snatch those bandages off and let them wounds heal
It’s alright to reveal
Let go of that hurt
So that you can begin to live
My name is not “bitch, hoe, slut, or ayo ma”
Call me by my name or don’t call me at all!
Tonisha is a poet that will grace this blog frequently. Her work mirrors the expressions of this blog and I welcome her voice and talent.
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