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Blue Black Girl by Cierra Robinson

Blue Black Girl

 

Most days my skin smells like sadness

Pigmentation–melancholy

Feels like it was hidden in my bones

Draw blood–I’m certain it’s blue

 

Keep trying to level up

But I’ve got lead in my shoes

It’s tiring trying to show and prove

I wear a distressed smile

Can you see my holes?

Am i bleached enough when I’m shifting?

Just to enter into the world

Knees ripped from begging myself not to lose my self respect

Because people who don’t see you still won’t have respect

Call me an impostor

I’m just trying to make bail

From this jail cell of depression

 

I’m underestimated and under paid

Got high expectations of me

But that’s only when they decide to see my face

Most days I’m an after thought

I almost forget to remember myself

I’m still compromising my mental-emotional health

 

Who am I ?…who am i?

I stare in the mirror to pick out similarities

familiarities…the scarcity of the rarities are scary to me

 

I wish identity was a drink

I’d put it in a mason jar by my bed

Sip it when my tires lose their tread

Sip it when I can’t figure out who the hell i am

Sip it when everything and everyone

keeps trying to take a piece of me

So I can drink myself whole again

 

It’s difficult to gauge my personality

When all the psychotropic drugs i’m not sure i needed

changed the make-up of my brain and only managed to starve my demons

Feels like their feigning

Looking for some fresh meat they target my sensitivity

and start feasting on the open wounds in my heart

 

I’m just wishing this route to whatever my purpose is wasn’t so dark

i remember being called a poser, crazy, more white than black

 

Now black girls got magic

But that shit still ain’t enough.

 

 

Cierra Marshall Robinson|@cierrarobinson_thepoet