TheStoryOfMyBecoming

Beauty that one should see in themselves is now left to the admiration of those who see nothing but a piece of ‘ass’ in her.
Yet if they stopped objectifying her to see her for who she really is, then they would have to look with eyes far greater than those appearing on their faces.
To a broken little girl, desperately crying for there to be one who sees that she needs love.
That she needs a hug.
That her chocolate dark skin masks secrets of internal scars.

That behind her big brown eyes lie all her cries,
Her scars are ripped open each time she hears someone holla @ her “yo baby”.
That those words take her back to the age of 4 or 5.
To an uncle who thought it “wise” to use and abuse her.
An aunt who accused her of asking for it with her cute ponytails and flirtatious eyes.
To a mother who vowed that she would amount to nothing.
To a father who left too soon.

Behind those big boobs lies a broken heart.
One which cracks open each time a guy looks @ her like some piece of meat.
Taking her back to 13.
To that first boyfriend who thought it “wise” to use her past that she so vulnerably shared with him, to abuse her.
To friends who told her that was the norm.
To a God she swore could not exist because if he did, he would never have dared let her be such a victim for so long.

Behind every swing of her hips lies insecurity
A girl unsure about the world, about HER world, about HIS word, about her dad…
The one who left too soon.
About the boy who followed suite..

Behind every guy’s “African dream” lies a broken little girl. Scared that all he sees is her chocolate skin, her big brown eyes, her big boobs, her wide hips…
that all he sees is his “African queen”. Nothing past his desire.