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Who’s this lil mama standing up here? Stop, please don’t rag on me -
People think my s*** is weak because of my anatomy.
Of course can’t forget the jokes about my skin tone.
Six foot guys thinking all I’m good for is a couple moans.
Um, scratch that - can’t be dirty now.
I’m a damn poet; I’ll try not to blow it:
Look at me now blending these words,
Putting it to a rhythm, trying to calm your nerves.
Music as a stress reliever:
Hearing they see me as a life changer -
“You’re destined for great things in this world!”
Then they’re just trying to see if they could get my toes to be curled.
I’m sorry, what?
It’s a dog eat dog world and you just proved yourself to be a mutt.
Realize I don’t need you or any of this;
I have my mind, my passions, and so much I don’t want to miss,
Though when I open my mouth, they say, “Stop, hush bae.”
I’m sorry, no, let me say what I gotta say.
I’m tired of just shutting up and going with the flow;
You know it’s a d*****bag when they say you shouldn’t be talking when it’s time for you to blow.
My mom already isn’t proud of my lifestyle,
So it disturbs me seeing these guys trying to go the extra mile,
But none of them are even worried about seeing my smile.
Sisters telling me it’s idiotic to expect anything less:
“I mean, look at you,” they say. “You’re something men want to possess.”
But that just makes my stomach turn inside,
*Sigh* having connections with people is a mess.
Maybe I should chill and stay lowkey -
It’d be peace and serenity
Whether it’s just me or if I got a b.