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Shawty

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Because everyday I’m judged by the color of my hair,
to be looked at for the size of my chest instead that of my heart.
“Damn that girl has a nice a**,” is sexual harassment,
and a little green monster called uncomfortable slams my shoulders
like a ton of bricks, but I laugh, because I’m a girl and,
“Don’t chu know dats a compliment shawty.”
Don’t touch me, don’t hug me, don’t ask for a kiss,
because if I want anything from you or your mouth,
It’ll be in conversation and not a sexual favor.
Because I have more to say than, “Do you want a sandwich?”
against the popular belief,
and since “like lolz, and OMG” aren’t my ideas
of a useful conversation.
Because a v-neck is taken as a sneak peak instead of a
lack of outfit coordination and sometimes,
just sometimes, I want to wear sweatpants
and not be asked if I woke up late, because
sweatpants don’t really “make you look sexy.”
And just because I curled my hair today,
doesn’t mean I’m trying to impress anybody.
Just because I’m upset, doesn’t mean
a little boy made me this way.
Just because what I leave at parties is memories
instead of my dignity,
doesn’t mean I’m an alien.
Unless you’re arrogant, or ignorant, or selfish, or rude,
because then just maybe I am an alien, maybe
just me
this shawty,
doesn’t want the compliment.





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