Black girls were never meant to be beautiful.
How hurtful; But she thinks this is true.
She walks the halls thinking nobody will ever love her; I notice her
darkness from across the room.
Her necklace another chain her glasses to see her race is hated by
every race that she comes across in high school.
This is all she knew.

Sixteen and she does not know the beautiful knowledge of her true home.
In the beginning of earth’s time I wrote about her yesterday.
I loved her the moment I saw she was beautiful as my dreams when I
closed my eyes.

I spoke to her for the first time and told her words which she thought
were lies.
I said “One day my world WILL LOVE YOU”.
She laughed sadly she did not believe my words because my mouth and
complexion was the same as the other boys who hated during her early
elementary days.
When she was learning to write, when she was learning to speak, when
she was learning to hate herself for who she was and would become.
I told her “One day my world WILL LOVE YOU and your skin”.
She laughed and said “They wouldn’t; plus even I hate it the world is
right my skin is dirt and my hairs are like the bushes outside with
thorns”.
I told her “One day my world WILL LOVE YOU”.
She screamed “Stop lying to me”!

Every day I walked her to class and preached to her about how true
love is unconditional.
I told her, what self-control was and her potential.
She never understood why I would not leave her side.
Her arms were crossed as she blocked the outside from entering her heart.
Her arms were crossed as she did not want any man to enter and destroy
what was left of her heart.
I crossed my arms around her.
“Open up to me” I said, she replied “I am too afraid”.
She started to cry as the memories of her past lovers haunted her
thoughts and ego.
I gave her, her first kiss.
Murdering, almost every negative thought from her past.

A year later I told her she looks like home.
She did not understand me.
And asked what does that mean.
I said you look like home and home is beautiful home is Africa.
You are dark as her snow.
She smiled.
She started to hear her hair natural.
I told her you look like home.
She smiled.
She started to wear less make up.
I told her you look like home.
She smiled.
And she said “I am as beautiful as Africa’s first Jungle”!!!
And I replied “Beautiful as Eden”.

That Evening we spoke.
I told her I loved her she said she loved me.
I told her I loved myself she replied at first I didn’t but you taught
me how to love myself...I love myself too.
I replied "My world loves you".
She asked how, because she still noticed the way people looked at her
skin and hair and how they hated her for who she was and would become.
She said your world does not love me they do not even love you did you
not see the news another brother gone because of some fool.
I calmed her.
And said "My World Loves Me and You and I Love the World Allah has
created for me to live".
She begins to get cheesed asking me if I was blind as the year 2000 and 9.
She said “We are not loved by this world, how can your world love me”!!!
And I poked her forehead and said because MY WORLD IS YOU.

She said my eloquence sounded beautiful as silent elephant shoes.
The world isn’t new and she knew that the world’s gravity was falling
off course into the sun the day she lost our son.

She told me I was very personal when the sun light shines but during
the night sky I was sensual.
How depressing.
She’s undressing.
I’m calling but she’s no longer answering.
Visited her home I told her don’t leave me she says she needs to sleep
beneath the sheets of green grass and concrete.
Running cold bath water in winter of twenty fifteen she says “Your
Love is Torturing Me”.
So I leave - within that night - She finds time to take her life.
This little light of mine is going to shine…Depressively.
She has Un-sober thoughts with somber neuron locks.
She stops.
Sleeping downstairs in the living room with candles in her hands fire
arms with no alarm.
Her cheerless enlarged pupils were watching the clock.
Go *Tick-Tock*
*Tick-Tock*
*Tick-Tock*
BANG!!!!

…..She’s still beautiful to me even in her casket.

The Angels falling from heaven passing through hell to earth to bring me wine made from black Roses that I couldn't drink.