The marks and bruises on my body
daddy says don't show
His voice in my head
screaming  "don't tell"
Daddy says it's okay to be a *****
He says it's okay to earn what you eat
But then why do I feel filthy everynight after he is done?
Why can't I wash the filth away?
Is daddy doing something wrong
or is it just me?
Forget me
iam just being paranoid
Daddy is never wrong.

Defined as the very darkest colour
like night or coal.
A colour used to define us,
to undermine and determine us.
Killed for wearing a hoodie.
Killed for breathing and being.
Our ''black'' blood is poured into white painted mugs
and when it can no more,
it spills over.
Our ''black'' blood is littered on the streets of THE BRONX.
All these injustice are slapped onto newspapers,
a few blogs and protests
but the justice system is never put to tests.
My black is beautiful.
My complextion has already granded me a million dollar tan,
my thirsty dry *** hair defies humidity.
My black beauty is earned NOT GRANTED
does not lose confidence when challenged.
My black is beautiful
therefore powerful
My black is swagg therefore never wag.

I gave you my heart.
A red veined jewel.
You played ball with it,
slam-dunked and passed it
and you painted beautiful art with it.
Tied it around your forehead just for show
with no purpose to live.
You just kept on taking,
taking without giving
with no remorse in the making.
I wore my heart on my sleeve around you
but all you did was rip the sleeve with my heart in tow.
You just kept on plucking the veins from it.
Deflating it vein by vein.
I was never good enough for you.
I was never PERFECT enough for you.
You created your own Halo
forcing me to bow down to you.
Me having to hide my tears
just so you could have something to pride over
was never an ache
yet here I am writing this with heartache.

I watched her cry
a puddle
of
tears

she rubbed the salt
into
her
paper cuts

then drowned herself in it


not every smile is meant to be kind

when you grin with your lips pressed
together

I can't help but think softness
in your demeanor
and of the kisses
you sometimes place
on my forehead

but if you smile
and bare your teeth, I will be scared
I'm afraid of those
lips parting
and speaking ill words
I would much rather
you tear
my skin apart with those
teeth of yours
you're showing


My dear,
I will gladly accept all of it because
at least you're smiling