Writing poetry is strange
Because I’ll have to…
And in-take you-in
With all your beauty stamped by a warning sign:
My smile is not a sign.
Your beauty is not an invite.
But the way you walk is a story. A fight. A flight.
Strength drawn from your spine.
And that of your mother
Your people. Mi gente.
A song that does not make sense to most
Yet, you play it so well.
Break norms and expectations with what you tell.
So we have reasons to judge and complain,
Perhaps drive you insane.
But, honestly, nothing about you is our business.
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