young girls

 

she wont coat her throat in propylene glycol

spray Lysol

sanitize her temple lest it might fall

below the standards of Mike or Paul

 

she speaks now as a child of the earth

unrehearsed

so dont search in her verses for persecution

or assume the size of her purse,

 

besides, what’s a Burkin to the salty saliva of Miss Caspian Sea

or browned arms reaching toward summer’s leafy trees?

the icicles dripping from rooftops in her city

certainly don’t pity zippers and seams

 

you can’t smooth on an olive complexion

with lotions or potions or a tanning booth

or rip grassy body hair by the roots till we’re smooth

we are not a template for you to choose, we are 2k youth

 

we are young girls

who don’t need to raise fists

when they call us a bitch

or do it for the vine

we are undefined

our milky edges curve wide as the sky

 

whether skin holds handfuls of extra affection

to cushion our fragile internal reflections

or xylophone ribs poke right through to the touch

a woman is never too little or much.

 

we are precious as delicious fruit strung ripe on trees

so dont reach twist or pluck us away from our dreams

I don’t care if you like what you see

I doesn’t praise you, I praise the dirt beneath my feet

we includes me

and I am flawless,

I am free.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741