Lil White Boys

Lil white boys

Yes, you

I am talking.

For once, I am taking up space

Listen.

What are you, scared?

What is it about me that offends you so deeply?

Is it the thickness of my lips?

Or the fact that I am not afraid of the sun.

Is it that I love my body?

The rolls of my well-fed stomach 

Or the fact that I don’t have a fat ass as you suspected?

Is it that your father warned you about girls like me?

That I would trap you with my body

That I am a welfare queen

That I am ghetto

“Don’t mess with those girls” 

He said to you

“They’re trouble”

Is it that I’m fat?

Don’t worry, you can say it

Or is it because you’re too afraid to have a conversation with me?

You see women as objects

Prizes to be won

Toys to be played with

Your biggest fear is a woman with a personality

Cause then you can’t ignore that she’s human

Too

Maybe it’s not your fault

Maybe you’ve been spoonfed images of the White American Beauty

As have I 

Maybe you think a girl is only beautiful with a gap in her thighs and her mouth shut

We both watched Disney Channel after all

Try harder, Lil white boy

I mean it’s not that hard.

But no, you’d fuck Beyonce and not Lupita

Why is that I wonder?

We want to be loved too

Even if only for a few fleeting moments of high school

I am not the angry girl 

You probably think I am

Lil black boys

Though you are not currently present, 

I write this poem for you too

 

You are not exempt from my anger

Or my frustration

Or my disappointment 

Who the fuck raised you?

Your black mamas

Your black sisters 

Your black grandmamas

Nourished in a black womb

Fed from the breast of a black woman

Hair cut and braided by the black hands of your mother

Yet,

You call us “Roach”

You say “I don’t fuck with black girls”

It’s just a preference

Nothing wrong with a preference, right?

Is it your black fathers who taught you this?

The ones who left you

That a black woman’s only purpose is to reproduce

To raise

To teach

To love 

But not be loved

Who is left for me then?

Who is supposed to love me

To want me?

Who will tell me they love my black skin?

My kinky hair

My big lips

Who will tell me that I am beautiful

That I am smart

That my eyes are like honey

And my skin shines like the sun

That I am not worthless

No one.

So I guess I will tell myself