Concerning my Thighs

Dear Lip-Lickin So-Called Lover on Flatbush Ave,


My thighs are more than you can barain for

They tie up on the train, trained to be tame

They thicker than syrup, sweeter than your lookin-ass smile

They know no gap, no space for anyone's eyes to travel

They ain't like the ones you eat, but may be devoured


They sit but don't fit perfect because they were created by a woman who never just sat to sit cutely

Can't sit to sit cutely

Can't be seated, won't be treated like my thighs suggest my brain ain't as full

Can't sit without my knees pointing outwards, don't confuse them with open arms

Can't assume my thighs mean I ain't armed, like I ain't packed and loaded, I am stable


Don't be fooled, strong black women can be weak, don't mean we are weak

Don't mean we ain't ready to book it

Don't mean we don't belong in a pencil skirt walkin up pristine little gray stairs to glass skyscraper, heels click-clackin', briefcase swingin'

Don't think we only useful when life pushes its way in and or out in between

Don't wait til I can't see you to watch me while my thighs whisper to eachother walkin down 'cross the street

Don't you expect anything of me or my thighs


Me and my thighs will be walking away,

Think Girl Who Didn't Smile

This poem is about: 
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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