Two Days' Grace

I am 16 years old

I’m left handed

I hate my hyphenated last name

And I absolutely hate bananas

I still don’t know how to play video games either

I’ve been really into spoken word poetry and dark humor

I believe that there are only two sexualities in this world


And confused


I’m a girl

though I’ve wished to be a boy more times

than a Ford pickup truck can break down

during a cross-country road trip.

I grew up in “white” schools

which means that I’m probably rich

and always attend every Starbucks outing

my white friends invite me to

I still don’t know who Malcolm X was

or why Rosa Parks was thrown in jail


I’m the daughter of a man who

always attends my school performances

and never misses a Sabbath church service

The daughter of a woman

who told me that I’m just as good as anyone else

She told me to push on and excel


I’m only 5’3

but I’m still a beast

Being short doesn’t mean

that I’ll never rise above

the expectations of others

I don’t know the formal  definition

of what it means to be a woman.

For the longest time

I thought instagram likes could tell me


My brother says he’ll protect me

from all

hurt, harm, and danger

but he’s sitting in classes

learning how to control his anger

And I’m still learning how to be a sister

Reminded everyday that we were

separated by the system

And I know women who are

still searching for their baby’s daddy

looking out on the streets and between bed sheets

At the bottom of the bottle

after hearing the gospel


And I learned that one of the best things about me

is that I’m not afraid to say sorry

but sometimes my anxiety

causes me to over-apologize

and then apologize for over-apologizing

Keep in mind that sometimes

I’m still the 12 year old

whose eyes light up at the sound

of a sweet southern accent

and a guy wearing boots and jeans

hopping into his lifted, mud covered pickup truck

I don’t listen to much party music

but I’m still that girl who dances

around my room in

shorts and a tank top


I’ve yelled at people

out of my fear of losing them

I don’t know what hurt more, though

The look in the eyes or my instant regret


People tell me that if I’m alive

I obviously have a heart

but I cut myself open anyway

to see if it’s real

I am the little girl who says “I love you”

and needs to hear it said back to her.

I’m the 6 AM “good morning”

and 10 PM “good night”

because I want you to know that through it all

I still care

and I want you to care too



So when the crowds get large

and his voice beings to rise

promise me you’ll be there

when the anxiety strikes

Know that you’ll never understand

what it feels like to be a target

or why I’m scared of becoming

that stereotypical “mad black woman”


I’ve got the elegance of a queen

the fight of a warrior

and the heart that’s been hurt

more than I bargained for

So when the sun sets

and my pen runs out of ink

buy me a new pen

so I can keep writing


This poem is about: 


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