Poet’s Corner – My Sweet Sista

I wonder why I don’t consider myself beautiful.

Why I don’t allow my caged bird to sing.

They say,

“Sing young black girl, let your voice rise.”

The insecurities etched within my flesh fester wildly.

They say,

“Feel the drums pulsating through your veins and dance black girl.”

So I do.

I dance like my ears have heard 

true Djembe drums playing in the pride lands. 

I would like to know the power of melanin.

But all I can hear from them is

“Nigga. Who you think you are?”

I thought I was supposed to let my voice raise.

I was supposed to dance like my sweet sistas.

I thought the caged bird was supposed to be set free.

But then they say,

“Why you wanna fly out there? You’ll never make it.”

“You a nigga. The caged bird stays caged.” 

Wasn’t I made to be free?

To fly?

You gotta be someone 

to fly 

my sweet sista.

This poem is taken from Erica’s new book, Dear Beautiful Woman. Click to buy.

Read Erica’s My Career Choice Questionnaire.

Top photo: Bigstock