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  • keliciahollis


No more?

Really? So I'm no more.

I heard this story before, a long time ago.

Just the strength of my hands is important.

Just the blood pumping through my heart is important.

I guess that's why you cut off my face.

Shoulder blades protruding

from dark skin.

And you say I'm no more exotic than the

dark room

I stand in. Really?

So I guess that's why the room is obscure,

Yes, I guess that is why you've given me a white

crinkled, cotton dress.

Monogram my dress with "MD,"

and it sure doesn't mean medical doctor-

Is that how you define me?

Maybe my name is Mary Dean

or maybe its Melissa Dee.

You'll never know because I'm yet another faceless

Black woman.


Well, if I stand tall, square hands on round hips,

strong forearms cradling flower bud breasts,

and cocoa brown arms posed stiffly

against my confident slender body

I may not be exotic

but you better believe

I'm believe,

And I'm here.


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