I sing the song of the black girl

Sydni Washington

I sing the song of the black girl

The heightened blues and rhythmic tunes

The battle scars and even farther dreams

I sing the song of the black girl

The war-like cry and coiled curls

Bouncing with every step

The fight for my spot in society never put to rest

I sing the tale of the most disrespected

Much more neglected—

I sing the symphony of sympathy

Dear black girl

This life held no mercy but your back continuously cracked

Tying the weight of the world on your hips—

The fine fabric—a time capsule

Pulling me back together again the way they ripped me in half

Stitches are pulled from your stomach—

Forming a smile

I sing the song of the Black Woman

The one who is too rough;

Too dark

Who is only too black when she is infuriated,

Instead of celebrated

Sing o’ black girl sing

For they will only listen to your melody

Your words wrapping around them like silk

The pain belting from your pipes

I sing the song of a people waiting

Waiting for the day when sleepless nights and scrutiny will be nothing more than a folktale—

When articulation and sophistication will become the dictionary definition

For the brown skinned woman

I sing the song of the black girl