I never know what people mean,

when they say that black girls are so mean.

Like my hand on my hip, and my intolerance,

Doesn’t make any sense, and aren’t the results of many things things.

They say Black Girl got Attitudes,

Kinky-haired Medusas with no concern leaving stone statutes.

Diana Ross’ offspring, Queens of singing the blues.

A bitch in heat,

biggest bark and boldest bite that you will ever meet.

Not groundbreaking, this is ancient,

this is four centuries of fixated emotions hitting hard like concrete.

As embryos, our mothers know what we will need in order to grow, and so

as fetus, they feed us, they’re uncompromising demeanors,

in our comfortable amniotic sacs.

Because this is world is hard enough to enter, but those contractions toughen when you are going to be a girl that is black.

So we sit back,

anxiously awaiting, and assimilating,

the way to cuss out someone is such a cadence,

that others mock us for entertainment,

as we uphold that black girl reputation.

Our childhoods held no time for playing.

Our stagnant hearts were starving, while through our minds television fed us,

A regularly scheduled image of a father’s love that was so delicious,

Not a serving of vegetables, but fueling a green eyed monster within us,

Which we digested, forcing her and I to be so envious.

Because we are not Daddy’s little girls,

We are Daddy-less girls.

Whose eye rolls and neck curls only visualize

what is constantly rotating in us from the inside.

Hurt

Mothering nature casting light and darkness on the whole earth.

But for what is worth,

Because whose world is this?

Never stopping, constantly spinning on it’s axis,

on our shoulders, breaking our backs as if we were Atlas.

Tragic

The fact is, Where the pride of a man who won’t even make it,

So there is no reason to wear a smile and to be honest, we can’t fake it

So we face it, because What are you suppose to do,

When the ones there to protect you are angry too,

and they can’t even look you in the eye, because you're there own reflection, everything they hate,

and that is a facet that they can’t face.

And this is not a movie, where the bitter black women doesn’t end up bruised,

There is no director on set demonstrating to us how to cry on cue.

This is our day to day lives, our self hatred, our low self esteem,

That fogs our perception forcing us to be so mean.

I uphold this attitude not out of want but out of necessity,

because I can’t give another person the opportunity to hurt me.

So God bless the black girl whose tough exterior protects her like a shell,

who spends her days, finding ways to make it through hell,

With dreams of only ascending to purgatory,

This is that, black girl with an attitude stories.

It is upsetting when your aren’t giving the chance to discover but rather are told who you are,

That is the reason we wear our scowls like scars.

Our backs bare welts, our feet show sores.

Were trying to catch our breath more and more.

You would be mad to if you were always running,

from what is inevitable, but what you fear most of becoming,