She relaxed her hair
listening to the beats
No Tupac, but Spice Girls
She'd never speak
Or her accent would seep
And subjects and verbs
wouldn't agree
to Mr. Diaz's corner store
ripped shoes on our blistered feet
Crawford Moss
She would stare
open the magazines
pale figures and blue eyes
She’d wonder "Why...
Why me have to be this ugly?
Dark skin never makes it in Hollywood."
Her thick coarse hair bounced
She journeyed down the block
In her bathroom she paced
as the bleach burned her skull
corrupting her mind
she believed no color was beautiful.
For this is America her motherland
Invent me.
listening to the beats
No Tupac, but Spice Girls
She'd never speak
Or her accent would seep
And subjects and verbs
wouldn't agree
to Mr. Diaz's corner store
ripped shoes on our blistered feet
Crawford Moss
She would stare
open the magazines
pale figures and blue eyes
She’d wonder "Why...
Why me have to be this ugly?
Dark skin never makes it in Hollywood."
Her thick coarse hair bounced
She journeyed down the block
In her bathroom she paced
as the bleach burned her skull
corrupting her mind
she believed no color was beautiful.
For this is America her motherland
Invent me.