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letra de brown sugar - angela brown

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self-love

i justify my image within
my vague identity
in defining who i am

my beauty and i
do not agree completely
when i look in the mirror
sometimes i cry

i am dark, fat with a flat chest
i camouflage my beauty
with arrogance

how do i perceive myself
as a heteros-xual woman
when my s-xual identity
prefers to be with no one
if beauty kept staring back at me
i am neither handsome nor s-xy
with faux conceit

adolescence

at age nine
i was not old enough
to understand who i am
i was too immature
to dream of men
instead, i began to dream
of young girls
with frizzy curls dipping into cotton
the thin feathers of a pillow fight
tucked into the canvas
of little girl dreams
confused of the reality
of things i did not understand

secrets

when i was young
i played like the boys
with toy sticks, did toy tricks
behind the surface
i could touch my body
but lower my head to shame
i played the game
behind the dark walls ashamed
of the darkest sp-ces
a solar eclipse and the cast shadows
of my hidden past
being black is never visibly the same as
the secrecy of cuts and bruises
that whispers my name

scars

the pointed fingers
are the ponds
that lie between us

the pursed lips
are painted figurines
at a distance
his palms cradled
the petals of my body
like threads of specimen

my body still trembles
from the waves of history
of rituals between us two lovers
and ripened fruit

my blackness

i am a black b-tch
you can call me by my name
it all means the same thing
black b-tch is part of my identity

i have been around people alike
like two fists going at it, i fight
i sleep hard, i talk wind
i wanted to be with both men

when god made a women
he taught her how to taste
black liquorish spit left and right
in her niga-ish desire

my house is popping n-ggas in and out
my blackness, colored girl, cover girl
men bent over s-x, scooped out, freeze in, locked out
the sh-t of having it all

changes

i do not understand why
i am so curious about men
in the woman i am
is where i stand
in this world i transition
how god made me a woman
and the power of my speech
why my s-x appeals to anyone
so, i am curious
about the body’s sculpture
how it blows wind
and how the flowers smell
when it blossoms
nature pulls, but resists
how i have changed
from a girl to a woman

a loaded gun

myself, my persona
my frame of mind
is keeping track of habits
filling in quotas and l-stful desires
dealing with everyday drama
being alone makes me different
it makes me hungry
it makes me lonely
it made me have the desire to be with someone
from street corners, broken alleyways
i carry the baggage
of a loaded gun

- angela brown

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