Sat, 06/30/2018 - 05:35 -- jm10035

Misunderstood, growing up without a care in the world. Making friends in play pens, climbing walls committing small sins like stealing a cookie from the cookie jar oh but let it be known that my parents made sure that never happened again. A few years later that's when everything started to transcend into what many call puberty. For a female its almost like a vampire drawing its first blood, but different way different. Then your chest rises like mountains to the skies and that's when everything starts to change and leads to the firsts. The first crush, which can make your heart pound like the beat of a drum and then the first touch, but right before I can reach that first I feel the eyes. Not just any eyes: the world's eyes. I feel them staring at me like I'm a slice of pie. Like I'm a snack or a meal, but no I'm a human just like everybody else I guess just misunderstood. Mistaken for an object because of how I'm seen. Maybe it's my melanin filled skin, or the way my thighs collide like the hot and cold air, but to me that's beauty, I knew it was the eyes. Moms and Pops told me this would occur but that I can not conquer with what I do not believe in. Like the saying goes, if you don't stand for something you'll fall for anything. And they didn't raise no punks not ready to stand up and fight for what they believe in. But answer me this, how do you fight eyes, and not those of your classmate, or your family member, or even your boss, no it's the eyes of the world you live in. It sounds dang neat impossible, but wait that's not a word in our vocabulary. But words in our vocabulary include: accomplish, overcome, and I can. But you still may wonder, how can I fight off the eyes that see me as incomplete or ugly. The eyes that see me as fat or incompetent. And then the hands, how do I fight off the hands that try to stretch and pry me until I give up and assimilate into the worlds eyes. But can you explain to me why as soon as I change the way I look to appeal to the worlds eyes and then the hands show me back to the eyes, they no longer like what they see. They want me to change me once again, but I say no my fake friend. I love the way my thighs collide like the hot and cold air, I love the way the wind blows on my melanin filled skin, I love the way my hair coils like the springs in a trampoline, and just know when it's all said and done and I've learned all I can, I will finally stand up as me and say that I will no longer be misunderstood.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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