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Lady, there, sipping cappuccino smelling sweetly of scented soap jasmine, coconut, lavender or vanilla. Are you the worldly sophisticate avant-garde an epitome of fashion dazzling?
You determine my worth from the length of my skirt You shame me for my femininty my worth is my own, my power is my sexuality you're afraid of the power we hold because under all the folds you can see our strength
1. When I was a child, I thought my hair a leash, an agony, a nest for rats, so I took up my scissors to hack and slice and cut until it was gone.
  Unsure eyes well with tears - Hair donated mere hours ago. Shorter than it has ever been, Reflecting the fuse inside.   Pallid hands grip the vanity,
she remains hidden and alone unexplored gold the color of a budding marigold aglow like a vivid citrine gemstone, then endures a metamorphosis she sheds like a sweet reptilian
1. The waves are thick with seaweed, soft and baubled with thread-like strands. The waves are green and glassy, tipped with bubbles of smooth white foam. The waves are roaring against the shore, powerful, pulling in and pulling back.
I am often expected to write for someone A loved one A best friend The black race girls I can’t say yes, or no to any of these.
His hazel soft eyes were enticing, Flashing their way through her soul. The feel of the valve.. A sure way to tell..! She couldn't stop the gaze Locked in his cage... It was forever.
I have hair on my legs, under my arms, and on my crotch, But I do not consider it to be any different than the hair on my head.
girl is sensual,girl likes sitting on a washing machinewith her mascara mouth openchanting something she learned in a pop song.  
I am not the first to fight this legacy war, passed down from my mother. I have been drafted unwillingly, underage.   My dad’s friends used to tell him, “Oh, Rich, you’ll have
-Shake that- Two simple words, their weight a sledgehammer into my confidence, If I dance, for all to see my provocation  I will be spurned, as she was before me- If I hide behind the curtain of modesty,
Why do old women wear musky perfume?  They are not mothballs yet
Braids, beads, medallions and box braids, she styling with weed strained leaves and I'm sniffing her powderness. With a whiff in, I'm left powerless to her weed strained weaves but she’s beautiful with and without them.
I love lace which is to say, I love the idea
I want long pink hair.   Which point of fixation Rests on long dances of Keratin finishing into broken Bonds of Circular Femininity.   And why does it stain my sheets?  
In Ancient times there was a tale That’s not so known to one and all, A tale of war, a tale of hate A tale of girls and boys and fate  
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