This is for my Coloured Girls

From head to toe they’ve already defined you

From head to toe they’ve got you all mapped out

They mask your identity with who they want you to be

Who you apparently ought to be

Who you now think you are meant to be.

 

Natural hair that bounces with every touch

Thicker, fuller than their glass half empty

Wringlets that resonate the coco swirl of your menalin skin

How it’s meant to be.

 

A ‘thick, grown woman’s body

Even though you’re still a baby girl in daddy’s eyes

The hour-glass, figure eight of their fantasy

How it’s meant to be.

 

Oily, coco skin that is the testament of your true beauty

Silky smooth with a baby’s touch that no other could compare to

No scars, no marks, no blemishes

How it’s meant to be.

 

But how about what is, instead of what it’s ‘meant to be’?

 

Natural kinky hair that doesn’t blow with the touch of the wind.

Hair that has me bellowing at every tug of the comb I pull to make my hair blow like Becky’s

Hair that doesn’t shimmer.

Hair that doesn’t sway.

Hair that doesn’t resonate the black-panther-style, proud-of-my-heritage afro representing my sisters.

Hair that doesn’t quite reach Becky’s standard, Island standard or Funke’s standard.

But how about my standard?

 

Athletic, tall and slim.

Broad shoulders and flat chested.

Figure eight curvy with an ass I can’t fit into my jeans; and it burnt me everytime me and mama went to the school store and they said they didn’t have my size.

Not quite JLO

And not quite your Instagram WCW

But I grew to love my shape, slim, curvy or a bit of everything because it was me

How about my standard?

 

50 shades of grey clouds rained on my parade when I was too black.

Trends change and all of a sudden my black makes the cut

So it should be 50 shades of sunshine now huh?

Well last I checked there were 50 shades of brown

and You can’t knock my crown

because of a trend you follow spinning like one tired played-out record.

Today my skin is God’s gift.

Tommorow…well who knows what tommorow brings.

But hey, how about my standard?

 

I sing this song of praises for my coloured girl.

Your kinky hair is the cushion for your crown.

There is not a figure in the world that could define the beauty of your grace.

50 shades of brown and you’ll forever be the Nubian Queen of your skin.

Your standard.

 

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Image: Solange Denim jacket from Birdsong pop store in Shoreditch (Instagram @birdsonglondon)

 

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