In in kindergarten, I covered my Barbie in whiteout.
Said her plastic skin was too dark.
In first grade, I saw Paris Jackson on TV.
Her crystal blue eyes and porcelain skin mesmerized me.
So, I said I wanted to be that kind of black girl.
In second grade I had my first crush.
But cupid’s bow must have landed somewhere else.
Cause that pretty little white boy didn’t look at me.
I told myself I was probably too dark for him.
In fifth grade, I begged my mom for a doobie.
Said my hair was prettier when it hung like an ebony curtain.
In seventh grade, I tried to starve myself.
Despised the way my thighs were the elephant in the room.
In eighth grade, I showered in the praises of being called a pretty black girl.
Said damn, I must be special. In eleventh grade, I looked at my body and cried.
Said, those thunder thighs, and big brown eyes are beautiful;
And they're mine.