Her hips they sway like the current, 

Her lips they set like the sun

Her thoughts the spit like hellfire

Mind volatile

The world is not made for a girl like her, 

not suitable for her aspirations

her body defines her, confines her

She is trapped in a glass case

In a caste system of skins

She bangs and she pounds on the mental constraints, 

but she is not let in 

and much like the gates of heaven, 

its doors are closed. 

So she sits,

she sits and she waits

dreaming, screaming, waiting for her future 

She is tortured by her body 

Held hostage by her curves 

She is strong

She is thick 

She is me. 


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