Whoever determined beauty must have been angry.

Especially at black folks.

Why must we relax our kinks and precious curls?

Do we have to have to sit still to hot comb our kitchens?

 Did he not know our hair does its own thing!

It’s wild like a field of strong sunflowers

But soft like fresh picked cotton.

It’s free like the soaring birds in the sky,

But kept secret,

 Like the songs in the field.

Our skin is succulent.

It comes in many shades

 From deepest charcoal to the softest cream

Our skin is exciting.

Not sensitive like them white folks, all red when kissed by the sun.

 It shines with its own light.

Hmp . Damn the man that tells us we need to change our skin!

Lord have mercy on our hips!

They can rev up the engine of any man

Our beauty is rare, underestimated and oppressed.

My beauty came with a secret darkness that gives it that much more power

Like a coffee and milk, night and day

I’ll rest here and pray that man can open his eyes and see our African beauty