Plight of the Pretty Girl

They say I’m pretty,

But what’s so pretty about me?

Fair skin, slim waist, and feminine fats perfectly placed

Is all people ever see.

Youngest of three, Finest of three

On my fathers pedestal I will always be.


I wake up. Dress in unhappiness.

Wear it like a cape. Sign of superhero status

Black body for fondling.

Skin delicate like lace,

Durable like rubber.

Malleable flesh able to be restored after abuse.

Action figure with special ability to

Suck it up and move on…

Be a woman,

Strong, loving,

Able to let everything roll of my back like

Reggae Rhythms in Dancehalls


The military trained more than my father.


That’s why I sit alone,

Wanted as a body, loved by nobody,

Knowing nobody knows my mind.

I have a poetic soul, freedom on the tip of my tongue

So much of me people will never understand,

Shrouded in mystery like the writings of (Edgar Allen) Poe.

Only to be found dead in a gutter, wreaking of alcohol.

My family is dumb and deaf to me.

Momma knows I write, but she’ll never read me,

Daddy knows I sing, But they will never hear me.


I wanna be juvenile, jump rope and play games children play,

But puberty injected breast into chest,

And the rise above thighs gets the attention of all the guys.


I don’t wear skirts for fear of what may come to pass,

Men stare and often comment on my breast and ass

There’s no peace to be found, not even sweatpants

And a baggy shirt could save me from the wrath of awkward flirts.


My boyfriend is scared of me and my male friends.

He inherited the family estate, built of insecurities.

Forced me to move in.

Now we both reside on the corner of heartbreak and lonely.

I miss my homies. Wish I had been born more homely

But because I’m fly I’m harassed by all the guys ‘cause I “made them horny.”

They don’t see leaky wrists,

Shaky fists with pale fingertips.

They see sexy.


All I want is to be known as beautiful.

Categories: PoetryTags: , , , , ,

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