You'll never believe what I get asked on a daily...

or maybe you will upon sight of me.

"You're so pretty, what're you mixed with?"

My brown eyes roll. 

What am I mixed with?

As if the flawless features of my face,

my hair,

my body,

my everything,

can't be attributed to my blackness.

So I tell them, "my ancestors are African, which makes me African."

They always squint and shake their heads...

you would too if you didn't understand.

"No, I mean, like, the other half."

As if the flawless features of my face,

my hair,

my body,

my everything,

can't be attributed to my blackness.

As if the other half, that non-black part of me,

is the result of the flawlessness they see. 

I'm close to giving up on them,

but they need to know.

They must know...

that the thickness of my lips,

to the bridge of my nose,

to the curve of my hips,

and the curly hair that flows.

My beauty is only enhanced by my blackness.

I am flawless for no other reason.

I am beautiful for no other reason.

I am black,

And that's all you need to know.