My body consists of
A set of curves
That move and swerve
With my Southern switch.
Roots grounded in
A tree planted
Inside fertile
Motherland.


Silent snickers because I
Choose not to mold myself
Into
The latest trend
Presented.
When I said that the love
I have for the Afrikan goddess
Was pure,
I most certainly have always meant it.


When you describe her,
You describe me.
If you despise her,
You also despise me.
Since,
We breathe the same beginning
Making the convergence of her
Within me
An extraordinary ending.


So please,
Don’t tell me
I’m not good enough to
Be on the front of KING
As if
This is a direct insult to my
Intellectually inclined goddess
Residing inside
The physical side of
My being.


You’re fighting with a
Paper sword when
You think calling me a
Whore is actually desecrating.
I’ve been called that before,
And I assure you,
With each harder spank,
I begged to hear it more.
In a sexual sense
(sigh)
It was truly stimulating.


So,
When you get the sudden urge
To cause an emotional splurge
Within the confines of my
Complex mind,
Come find me.
Then remind me of how I
Wasted my time trying to let you
Define me.


em hotep