For me, A Colored Girl

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A tribute to the fallen, hope for the yet still standing
It can never escape my mind
It can never be erased from my soul
A past I never lived, there to haunt me should I ever forget.

Submitted: February 18, 2017

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Submitted: February 18, 2017

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For me, A Colored Girl

By Jasmine Howard

 

To crush me. To kill me. To reject me. Stomp me into your grave with all your dead hopes for the colored girl.

Adorned in black velvet, make me a shadowed, brown eyed monster to your children’s, children. Throw rocks at my feet to spit up bitter dirt. Why must I be ill spoken of as a horror bed time story in the ears of a world you call yours. Where the depth of my complexion, my birth place, my ancestors, account for all that I am and ever will be, by a unanimous vote of the default.

Have we any justification to serve for our existence, as it seemed to have cross bowed with yours in the womb of creation? What be your right for the preconceived notions that have birthed animosity scarred to our flesh in hopes of our miscarriage throughout every waking generation?

To crush me? To kill me? To reject me? Stomp me into your grave with all your dead hopes for me a colored girl? You mock me with your false brotherhood, save me a ticket to that heaven you speak of, in the many facades you disguise yourself a friend, a lover.

Do not place a brand to my name, a price to my life, do not fetishize my beauty for your own self verification that you are indeed not what your history has deemed you to be.

I do not need your praise to be glorious nor your scorn to be pitied. We are not yours to judge, never have, never will be.

My history, my heritage, taken from me, stripped from me, beaten from me, MURDERED, in my grandmothers, grandmothers blood.

You did not spare me in my youth. Forced fed the drink of the well, to taste its bitter reality for me. My eyes held the innocence you smiled upon yet revealed the truth of which you find distasteful.

The mind of said “master” slept not in my wake but remained steadfast in his brother’s DNA so that his throne could never tarnish and his will could ever be done.

I bid you a do, a round of applause, you took hope and colored it your own, you burned what remained. Dreams, charred to ashes.

To crush me. To kill me. To reject me. Stomp me into your grave with all your dead hopes for me

For me, a colored girl. 


© Copyright 2018 Jasmine Howard. All rights reserved.