Your Words

You think you broke me with what you said.

You think you broke me and left me for dead.

THOUGHT I'd be submerged into your idea of beautiful.

THOUGHT I had to change to be considered normal.

I walk these halls alone and at peace until I hear your sudden whispers about me.

About my hair, about my clothes, about my feet, about my nose.

About my walk, the way I pose.

"Ha ha, look at her, she dresses real weird, and she doesn't have a perm. 

Where's her Nike gear?"


My mind is dumped in the shadows of unimportance because I am not transparent to teenage society.

Is a sixteen-inch the only way to "be okay"?

Please enlighten me.


We claim "black power" when all we bring is pain.

We shun our own people if they do not look the same.

We mistake feelings for a game, good grammar for a lame, and manners as a shame.

But, who am I to blame?

Me? For being myself? Or you, for bashing me?

Thrashing me, making my feelings miniscule to your large but weak words.


Words, how important are they? 

Vowels and consonants all meshed together to break my confidence.

You don't care about how I feel.

You want to "be cool", you want to "keep it real"

But it doesn't get realer than this.


Happy or not, my light will shine.

Like it or not, your words won't affect mine.

My vowels praise "I" for it's individuality.

My consonants praise "me" for building who I am gradually.

And I thank "U" for what you said.

I learned about myself and how not to be mislead.

Love me or hate me, I am gorgeous.

Your words slipped out of your mouth because you just couldn't ignore it.





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