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Writer's pictureBloomfield College Underground

Three Poems from Christina Gales-Brooks

Updated: Apr 27, 2019

Life's Unfair for the Goodhaired


I am a woman.

As

Black

As can be,

But my hair is too pretty to be

“That Black”

says the man.

Since my box braids slip from my scalp

And glide down my backside

As his hand does at the BBQ,

At the gathering,

At the lit event,

Too much to think

His touch is

Heaven sent

And still

Yes…..

I feel for him

Him,

The nigga who has only has two choices

To be a nerd, booking loving, sellout

Using sports and rhyme to set himself free

Or

A P90X juicehead from Jersey finding the heaviest

Dumbbell to bench press

In the middle of crossfire

Hoping to spark my interest

And still

Yes, I’m unimpressed

For I study day and night,

And night and day,

Up,

With the waking hour,

Up

When the lights away,

I stay.

With the intention of surpassing any fucking,

STEREOTYPICAL,

bad Bitch,

hot chick,

black girl misfit,

Bluford High

Characteristic,

Have you lost yo MONKEY ASS MIND?

And attempted

To conform me to.

I WAS BORN HERE TO! I’VE BEEN SCORNED HERE, TOO!

By both white and black man,

nothing to hold,

in the dimness of the lights end,

Eaten alive,

Blood wasted,

Mind tasted,

Image played,

Too diverse, too contagious.

And god forbid either catch my disease

me,

New York,

The melting pot,

Yet, in each camp there is not a slot

to sleep in,

seep in,

But still good enough

For their hands to seep into.

I

THE TRAITOR

Who is blind,

And still woke,

Who is kind,

And so far from

the most recent image of Harley Quinn.

Too much meat on my bones

To find a decent damn pair of fitted jeans

Cause size

does not matter,

When your hips are of the fatter,

And your waist is in between,

Shame on you man,

For making me the ideal image,

When stimulating every wet dream,

Assuring that my body

will never quite fit,

the clothes you sell to me

since I’m not “shaped like a white girl”.

And still I’m not black,

Even within my features

I’m at least

not black enough,

With an everlasting finished tan,

Of course, however

I am clearly not white

Since my hair isn’t bone straight,

curls far from too tight

Yes, Carols Daughter and Miss Jessie

you have robbed me,

ripped me, stripped me,

of all my damn right

To be who I am

Without any extra shit

I am just black

and that’s IT.

Appreciating

both sides of the pond,

Despite the fact that

I can’t swim.





 

IT GIRL






 


Lettered to the Madness




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