Smooth shea butter for my skin–
patterns of brown with traces of golden hues
and blonde hairs–
and coconut oil
for the wealth of hair
that struggles to mold underneath
my demanding and oppressed fingers.
Sticky mango drips from my
brown fingers and the wet, clinging juice
hugs my thick, pink lips,
and my skin tingles from the open sky–
the sun bright against the stubborn and bold melanin
in my sand colored skin.
My wide mouth tries to sound out harsh
and exotic words–
rhythm and soul in my timbre–
pushing against the heavily-voweled tongue
that refuses to budge–
marble-mouth and tongue dry
I shake my afro and boldly glare
at the stares that interrupt my journey to find myself.