Here I move to discordant rhythm.
As I’m pretty for a black girl
I pride in leaning on walls,
striding down strips,
defying given scripts,
a part of me, not all.
Three shades above don’t need physique
but what is seen first-hand,
While commending the way I speak
molasses no match with sand.
He doesn’t like dark gals,
Despite his palms’ flip side
He should know he’s in denial –
what does the avenue hear of me?
How much better should I be, more?
to show splendour in the dark,
An open letter from my heart I pour
“Pretty and, not pretty for?”
Chameleon street questioned
beauties like me,
Pure teachings from Def and Kweli
Not particularly light,
but I move so that’s alright
–
She’s American fine.
I, UK average,
Fenty 498
But I like what’s on my plate,
so I’ll make it plain:
Here lies no sob story
we know how it goes
I’m more than Nubia
it’s something that shows
I brought myself up right,
a scene of innate beauty
So I found that it’s my duty,
to waltz dark avenues, full flight.
Some Variables 