QWOC

Brown girl .

Red State.

Weaponized shades ,

Forging hate through fractured streams.

I’m a caramel, horchata, Boricua.

Ripe as the peaches in my current state.

Slightly southern fried soul food,

Coursing through my veins ,

Battery acid,

Firing the synapses ,

Awakening the ancestors sleeping in the Barranquitas,

Fanning my burning passion and desires.

I'm your free spirit,

Love child,

Warrior of my mothers name,

Licorice candy curls framing my face.

I’m your tasty treat.

You salivate over my menu,

Hungry for my decadent buffet,

Oblivious to your slow starvation.

Calming hues of subtle blues,

A happiness I never knew.

And why can’t he enjoy pink, bubblegum Barbie

Why can’t he be happy?

I define me,

Embrace all the colors you assign me,

Poison the cuisine you chose to divide me,

Private consumption, public shame.

Brown Girl.

Red State.

Full of love.

Surrounded by hate.