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