IMPERFECTIONS

Can I be called beautiful by standard

Without been slandered

Can my name matter?

Just like Martin Luther

Or be it the way I’m made

Should I be ashamed

Unpersuaded, I say,

It the colour of my skin,

The scent of my body,

The awkwardness of my laughter,

And the tone of my voice.

Imperfect as maybe,

Still beautiful being me.

Does the blackness of my skin make you spite?

For by it I slay the day-light

I see your labelled eyes

Ready to marginalize and ostracize

Unintimidated, I say,

It is the flip of my hair,

The stretch of my skin,

The fragrance of my breath,

And the joy in my spirit.

Imperfect as maybe,

Still beautiful being me.

Does my uniqueness put you on bended-knees?

Knowing full well I damn please,

I may not be built for an exhibition frame

But I’m sure worth the title ‘Grande-dame’

Proudly, I say,

It is the power of my tongue,

The passion in my heart,

The genuineness of my smile,

And the grace in my stride,

Imperfect as maybe,

Still beautiful being me.

In what manner am I seen as outlandish?

Simply because I don’t dress lavish

Sorry, I stand incongruous to your aesthetics

A bit too much for my characteristics

Smugly, I say,

It is the clarity of my voice,

The quaint of my style,

The star in my eyes,

And the fire in my soul.

Imperfect as maybe,

Still beautiful being me.