Directions from a Lost Girl

Now...y'all should be GRATEFUL...I'm releasing some good shit. lol But seriously I'm an artist. I pour my soul into my work so like Ms. Badu stated, I'm sensitive about my ish. Enjoy tho...


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I was a black girl lost. Not your average black girl though. Not the video black girls with long wavy hair and bright skin. I was that blue black, permed hair and fresh weave type of girl.

I was a black girl scared. The world didn’t like me very much. My sun-kissed complexion was mistaken for a smooch of death. I was avoided and smacked with sayings: Damn you fine to be so black! My difference threatened to exclude me from all things pleasurable…that scared the shit out of me.

I was a black girl misguided. I tied my stomach in knots as I gazed upon my deep plum colored skin in disgust. Slipping ‘Michael Jackson Pills’ under my tongue hoping that as it dissolved so would the Black Death that plagued my skin and so would the frowns of the world, changing them into praise and approval. Instead of hatred and repulsion.

I was a black girl hurting. You know, it’s hard for dark skin girls to look pretty. I smiled at this comment as my heart and self-esteem shattered into pieces.

We usually only use light skin girls in videos because it’s hard to see the expression of darker skin girls…A knife jabbed into an already open wound and twisted from side to side. I was numb to the pain it all began to sound the same…

Yellow Bone long haired star…Yellow Model Chick…I like ‘em long haired thick red bone…And my bitch a mutt too…Yellow…Yellow…Yellow…NOT YOU…NOT YOU…

We would love to put you at the front desk but…but we fear you might scare people off…Even organizations directed towards me, NAACP, feared my complexion. Shoving me in the back, grins plastered across their faces with fables of good intentions falling from their lips. I reminded them too much of a continent long forgotten.

I was a black girl too far gone. ‘Scientific’ studies exclaiming I be the ugliest woman alive. The darker I be the further I get from femininity? Dark skin, only right for our men. I believed it more everyday. The mirror turned on me and began to chant names the world had taught it…Monkey…Too damn Black…If only you were lighter…You so pretty but too dark for me… I started to seek ways to make the pain subside and quiet the reflection I no longer could recognize.

I was the shell of a black girl. Pain echoed and bounced around in my head like the resounding sounds of gunshots. Each pop let off ripped through me spilling out the remainder of my sanity. Dreams of looking in the mirror and seeing flowing hair and porcelain skin. Waking up to the nightmare of being not only black, but a dark skin black woman. I would rather stay sleep.

I was a black girl broken. Empty pill bottles and flashing lights three times in my life. Drifting off to the dream state where I could be the porcelain skin, flowing haired girl in the mirror. I was yanked back by paramedics and loud sobs. My eyes would flutter open, the sun too bright. Everything was out of focus. My worst enemy staring into my eyes. My loved ones holding a mirror up to me asking…what do I see? I did not know.

I am a black girl searching. Comfort within my skin seemed the hardest to obtain when my world always tell me I’m just a black stain. The saying, Beautiful Black Woman had an asterisk that leads you to examples of Kims and Roses. This left me feeling like a withered flower, not worthy of adoration. Born in Babylon both dark and woman who else did I see to be…?

What do you see? What do you see?

I took directions from a lost girl. She was not amused by my abasement. She related to the pain in my eyes. The only one that could identify with my torment inside was the one I couldn’t bear to look in the face. She threatened to ask me questions I couldn’t answer. What do you see? My reflection became clearer. I attempted to wipe off the hateful names it had learned. Some came off right away, others left streaks and remnants. She whispered I know you very well.

The lost girl reflected became more familiar every day. Her abysmal affection drained the grotesque puss of self-hatred and doubt from my abscessed heart.

Stains still on my mirror.

Dreams still haunt me.

But love overflows from the mirror to my heart and directs me.

I am a black girl searching.

I am a black girl healing.