Copyright © 2020 Nameya Jacobs

BLACK, NOT BEAUTIFUL

It turns out that being in college might have it's benefits, even though all I've been reading are articles by college graduates on how getting a degree means nothing in the real world because all anyone is looking for is experience. But I'm fine, we're fine, everything's fine.

All quarter-life crises aside, my Creative Writing class gives me a lot of material for my blog, so I'm giving you all a poem this week! This is a protest pantoum on how society only deems Black women beautiful if they're more White than Black:

Who is it you want her to be? Her throat chokes on cotton and her knuckles crack like whips, You say her skin resembles the mud of May, She's the bright red sock in a load of Egyptian whites.

Her throat chokes on cotton and her knuckles crack like whips, Don't drool over her beaten carcass, She's the bright red sock in a load of Egyptian whites, You bend her coils into stolen wire.

Don't drool over her beaten carcass, She was yours before she ever was her mothers, You bend her coils into stolen wire, Call yourself the angel when all you are is fallen.

She was yours before she ever was her mothers, Who is it you want her to be? Call yourself the angel when all you are is fallen, You say her skin resembles the mud of May.