The Black Girl
Her home was taken from her,
Her people were murdered.
She lost her family, she lost her lover,
She lost everything that mattered.
They said her skin was too dark,
That her hair was really odd.
So she relaxed her hair of black,
And bleached her skin of gold.
She tried desperately to fit in,
That very racist society.
She wished they wouldn't judge her skin,
That they would appreciate her identity.
She learnt not to care what they said,
About her people, her roots, her land.
She knew her history was alive, not dead.
But they would never quite understand.
She loved her black skin without a doubt,
She adored her head of curls.
She realised she was born to stand out.
That beautiful black girl.