The look of pain, betrayel, abandonment;
all of that tattooed permanently
on their faces but not by choice.
I watch the attitudes of my sistahs.
This is their armor, their skin.
Fuck putting on foundation,
attitude is their makeup
but not by choice.
I watch the swagga of my sistahs.
You can't buy that shit from Walmart
or Abercrombie & Fitch!
Their curves sway rhythmically to their own music.
And yet you still do not notice,
is this your choice?
To leave us to raise your children
while you parade the 'prize' around the hood
where we once greased and braided your hair,
where we played hide go get it,
smoked a blunt and drunk our red kool-aid
out of the pickle jars until the street lights came on?
Are you that disconnected with yourselves?
Afraid of looking at us directly in the face
because you will only and always see the
reflections of yourself?
They are not band-aids that will cover up
the burden of carrying the world on your shoulders.
Only we can lighten that load.
Only we can help lift you, love you, relate to you,
and help fulfill your destiny of being the Kings you
all are suppose to be!
Sit down with us and chop it up a lil'.
Reconnect with us, love us!
Will you make that your choice?