Why can't I be pretty?

Because the skin I'm in is not caramel or cream?
Because the mane that frames my face is not straight or curly
Does that make me less of a woman?
The blemishes on my body color me
My full lips stand to consume
Does my crooked smile make my comments and advice less worthy?
I'm a modified coca-coca bottle with my hips designed for rearing children?
My stomach is not flat I live everyday with my face
Black Charcoal Midnight
That's what they call it
I call it dignity I rename it grace I claim myself Beautiful
My hair does not hang
My feet don't slip into a 6
I make my own standards I determine the categories into which I fit
Don't put me in a box of defined characteristics. I'm an other An African American The American Princess A lady of grace My imperfections make me more real than your image of me Your attempt to change my perception of myself only serves to strengthen me
I'm not perfect and I don't fit your standards
You call me atypical I say I'm divine I'm beautiful
You're wrong I claim myself Mother of all

Rain

Slowly washing away the cares of the world
Shedding a massacre of depressed souls
Leaving fresh the dew of hope
Full of promising days of tomorrow

Leaves

Falling Sometimes slow, sometimes not
Falling like rain
Hitting the ground with tremedous power
Each leaf washing away a part of me
I try to catch them
I run to where the leaf falls
And cup my hands
But the wind blows it from me
I hold up a basket but the leaves run away
They fall around me, leaves like I'm untouchable
Afraid of me
Protection is what I offer
They are like my children, leaves
These leaves, a part of me
When they fall, I am a step closer to being the only one
The only one left
The lone leaf
Still holding on thorugh rain and hurricanes wind and snow
I will myself to fall, to let my weakness take me to the ground But something sustains, something mysterious and great
Me

The Purgatory of Night

I sit and stare, awed at the way the light is stillborn with beauty
The way it creates captivating memories that remind of solemn scenes of melancholy memories
Days when the wind stood still as the endless thoughts of a confused conscious floated within my mind.
Caught between good and bad, just a lifeless being, like the purgatory of night.
As the night hangs in purgatory, it ceases to exist and I capture its essence.
My existence lies in its absence of decision
My self worth hangs in the balance like the lights of the city as night encompasses them
My entirety is tricked into thinking it will evolve only to be wedged in a state of purgatory like the time between activity and rest
To go through life as a ghost, not having to deal with consequences or conflicts only to be reminded that like the night, there is no everlasting state of purgatory
Only a temporary safe haven for evolution
A created place where I must choose between dark and light, good and bad Self-esteem and self-degradation Existence and extinction The possibilities of my Life

Poetry

I am infatuated With words
The way they create
The things they shape
The lives they mold
How their stories are told
Making music Musical Creating beauty Beautiful
I love the way they make pictures
Color the world
They pass on history
I watch their greatness unfurl
They possess me
Take over my mind, transporting me into other worlds, dimensions, time
Our union creates magic Magical
I write their stories
Poetry