By Rachel Sekyere
This poem is about the African diaspora and the struggles and experiences of being a Black woman.
These wild curls, That go in different swirls The naps of my ancestors Who gave birth to protestors With deep dark flesh like the night and the earth Hair that looks like trees, the world gave birth Like brown sugar and everything sweet It's our rhythm we swing to our own beat Like the African diaspora That spans from Jamaica to Madagascar Like Yaa Asantewaa The freedom my ancestors never saw Did they know we would hate ourselves so? Even though we secretly glow I know they envy my grace And try to make us hate the world's true birthplace We came from kings and queens, tribes and more And the bodies who refused to be enslaved, spirits still live in those shores And the laugh at our names, names that survived, could have been forever lost Do they know the cost? Telling me I should achieve straight blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin Where should I begin? Like Breonna, Breonna Taylor Cause even though she died she didn't go a failure. Yes my nose is wide, so are my lips My culture falls on me like the beads on my hips I'm black as black as the night as black as tar But for a while, I wasn't my number one star Saying I'm whitewashed, but this blackness could never be tainted I'm sorry if you can't see the picture that's been painted Surprised when I make my way down these Bronx streets with my vernacular But once this little girl found her voice everything that came out of it been spectacular.
My inspiration for this poem was my own and other Black women’s experiences while living in America. I spent the day writing about little notes of things I wanted to include and when writing it all just came together.
Rachel Sekyere is an 11th grader from the Bronx, NY who enjoys reading, writing and art. She is hardworking and determined when she puts her mind to anything. She wants to study psychology one day and can’t wait to see what her future holds!