Only God Can Judge Me
I let my hair down
and it poofed in a matter of seconds
I loved it, my Angela Davis look
But they said no, straighter, longer, lighter
So I covered me with Indian Remy
Still they were not satisfied
My smooth skin
The skin I appreciated because I have never been sun burnt
apparently didn’t function well for them
It needed contouring and highlighting
foundation, concealer, bronzer
Maybe I didn’t shine bright enough
Maybe all my human-like wrongs weren’t right enough
Before I let them mutilate the rest of me
I sat down with the inner me
I said, “I love you
and that’s why you’re getting this advanced apology
I am sorry that I have to conform to the standards of a society
that was built to exploit not love us
Although they say ‘In God we trust’
they cannot be trusted with our greatest parts
They can have my hair, my skin,
but I won’t let them hurt my heart
In there dwells my long dreadlocks,
bare-faced beauty hanging on to Black history
writing poetry and music and novels
Letting our most personal thoughts free
In there thrives an artist that doesn’t toil with organic chemistry
because it is irrelevant to the peace she seeks for her people
But that lady would be ripped and ravaged out here
So to protect you, her, us,
You have to hide.”
When they claim to love me,
my soul cries, “Blasphemy,”
for if they loved me,
they would not criticize every fiber of my being
Why should I be giving of my whole self
after people have tainted fragments
I dared to share?
Why should I pull back the curtain
for any one person when it’s obvious that
they wear a mask for me?
Like a puzzle with pieces scattered around the house
I only give parts of myself to particular people
and it is not until they collaborate
that the true me is revealed
That day will never come
so it shall remain
that only God, the one that knows me internally and entirely
Only God can judge me