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(Click to Listen-She)

She has a smile that is unmatched
Not even by the light of the sun
A smile that could melt the Arctic Glaciers of the Bering Straits
that wraps like silk from the banks of the Nile around her round face
She is light
She is light in a thief’s shadow of unwavering pity
Confident and Self-Assured
Yet she awakes to a world that has no room for her to blossom into her
Carnations’ petals of purple
And pink
Perfection
If purple
And pink
And perfect is what she desires to be
or maybe green and brown hues of a strong cypress
deep in its roots and tough skin
She Awakes
Black Girl
In all her imperfections never told by her own reflections
in her own mirror
in her own home
but imperfection heard by a world
that secretly stands to read her book, and drinks from her cups
without so much as leaving a nickel for the tip that has been stolen
yet curses the natural way her clothes has maintained its close and personal relationship
to her hips
close
unbashful and unapologetic
hugging
every curve and dimple
that smooths into a muscle
that flows into a picture
perfect
pose of passionate
and purposeful stride
She Walks.

She walks the dead concrete roads of her own Oz
where the yellow brick
has been stained and treated with the grey grit
of the wayward strolls
of the dead souls
who have walked and strolled this road before her
there is no fucking skipping in her Oz
there are no linked arms
or white girls smiling
cowardly lions crying
farms of a hay stuffed arm scare crows
or indigo skies that beseech eyes of a perfect tomorrow
this is not
was not
and never has been
her Oz
and there is no goddamn Toto
there is just the whistles and cat-calls of the wizards of the ghetto
where the stains not only show but glow to a world
who believes you can’t grow from
to move out of grey grit hell holes
this world won’t plant the seed in she
but will taint the soil to kill her Cypress tree
to kill her Cypress tree

But yet and still she walks

She walks
To find love in a man who doesn’t deserve her as a woman
To use and be used
To wipe her love away as if it has stained the side of his face
By lingering too long to be beneficial
to breathe the air of a woman who loves to be loved
To give love from a place where only few have visited
Yet he decorates with arrogance and vile
Disease of deceit and indiscretion
Poisoned tipped lies that resurrects with no confession
Words spoken and hoarded like black roses
Kept fresh through cracked vases and osmosis
on display for the world to see
To speak about the love of she as if it never existed
Through persistence love grows distant
But persists is the only way she exists in a world with few exits
So she loves hard and with no direction
Dead ending on a familiar street as if that’s the only route her love knows how to go
Never growing in love
Just growing from it
Never staying in love
Just visiting
She seeks warmth in her own words when his has grown so cold
Never too old to play the fool
And never too young to learn
She walks back into the fire as if she’s never felt the burn

Yet and still she walks

…and she keeps walking and she keeps walking and she keeps walking
Until the world not only recognizes Jesus footprints, but recognizes hers too

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