BEAUTIFUL
He doesn’t call me beautiful
He no longer admires the kink of my hair, the hue of my skin.
He doesn’t call me beautiful
I am where he has already been.
He doesn’t call me beautiful
My eyes can no longer hide the deep-rooted hurt
He doesn’t call me beautiful
He says our being together would call for too much struggle…too much work.
He doesn’t call me beautiful
My afro, my braids, even my processed hair reminds him of a time in chains.
He doesn’t call me beautiful
He desires one with generations of Black blood on her hands.
He doesn’t call me beautiful
I have too much strength and if need be, I will overpower him.
He doesn’t call me beautiful
Because if I have to, I can do my part and then turn around and do his.
He doesn’t call me beautiful
Even though I have been there when there was no one else.
He doesn’t call me beautiful
Because when he looks at me he sees himself.
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