Business As Usual

A Black girl was not a thing of magic
She found the entire charade tiresome and tragic
The need to paint everything elflike, legendary
Like there was no beauty in the ordinary
Still they surrounded her like a fairy
Willing her to dazzle and dance 
But her steps would falter, 
her shine disappoint when they realised
There were no wonders beneath her shorts
And sometimes she smacked her hips to make a point
Right then and there she'd run out of spells to pepper her words
Exhaust her supply of potions
Come sundown her crown of glory

began to melt... 

And become a kinky mass

With a resounding click, 

she would close her bag of tricks...

Passed down from her grandmother's mother
And waited, impatient, as the glitter wore off and left her just another chip off the old block
Black, middling, plain 
Business as usual
Cleanup on aisle four
This was fine, she couldn't ask for more 
So what if her life story wouldn't be told 
across the campfire 
In hushed, reverent tones? 
When beneath her hairdresser's comb

They gabbed on with bubblegum breath, discreetly wiping their sweat

Here no one needed to be a creature of myth

and noble descent 

To be worthy of respect 

Anyway, it was Saturday night 

She was much too tired to inspire.