With skin the color of my pen's ink
And eyes the color of honey, fresh from the
Honeybee's hive – I discover appearance.
Birthed to a family of hand-clapping,
foot-stomping, and
Sunday school – I discover my culture.
Pulsing in the temple of my brain and at the top of
My calves, I discover my strength.

With a mind racing at the speed of light,
I discover my intelligence.
With a voice, firm when I speak but
melodious when I sing,
I discover my passion.
Eyes planted on eighteen little cousins, I
discover my future.

With the sensuality of my speech I
reveal myself.
This is me. Raw and pure. No strings
attached, no anecdotes
To tell. Urban expression and juvenile
learned lessons –
A young black woman is who I am. AP
classes and exams
Create a two-way mirror for the world to
peer through,
All you see is what I allow you to. That one side of me.
But to know me is to embrace my love of
culture – to ride the
Streets bumpin' Badu through the woofers. See I found my identity, and
No, not through compliments and nice
tendencies. I wish that everyone could be
As free as me. But you'll continue to
be incarcerated.
Until you find that I D E N T I T Y.