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Miss Understood

Miss understood, I choose to call her as opposed to the vulgar used to describe this beautiful queen.
With her short skirt, dark skin and stilettos, miss high class. As she fronts about her well-being, all they considered was her fine ass.
I sat among my peers, as I observe how they assume her background, “she gives it up in a day bra”. “ Heard she done laid it out to Steve the other day bra”.
Miss understood, I choose to call her for I know not her name, so as I see her pass by my street with her sunglasses and headsets plugged in, I choose not to judge this bitch.
“Bitch?”
It would seem my homies have altered my thinking, now I stand disgusted at how I’m compromised. “The next time I see her I should strike conversation”…“She high class, she don’t talk to lames like us”. My ignorance sets in and low self-esteem completes sentences for me.
My inverted thinking has me seeing the world through the eyes that ignore the truth and do not belong to me.
Miss understood, I must know your name.
Look beyond the short skirt, dark skin and stilettos, see her for the down to earth being that she is.
As she fronts about her well-being, I choose not to ignore it and ask “what seems to be the matter?”
“ I seem to be misunderstood by the people, from humble beginnings I was sown from.
A child of a typical African parenting system where my mother was present and a father nowhere to be seen.
Now I’m being judged by the clothes I wear, called names of disgust and demeaning of the woman I am.
I am a woman awaiting her man for the taking, where vows will be exchanged and before God we will be seen as man and wife.
Yet on this day, I am given spouses I do not know, I have been with men I am yet to meet.
I am a pure soul embodied by an uncharted temple.”
As I stood stunned by her words she walks away, smiles and says “my name is Precious by the way”

Pinocchio's Story

(Inspired by Kanye’s song of the same name).

All I want to do,is be a real boy.

Have feelings, cry when you feel pain,know what you mean when you tell
me you love me, feel the goose bumps on my skin, embarrassment.
I just want to be a real boy.

What does it feel like? A real life?

I bring joy to your hearts, mine locked in a tin box, thrown away and
lost,at sea, not knowing where it could be.
Teach me, tell me what it feels like to be real when all I have been
is but a stone.
Thrown,outcasted and left alone.
I just want to be a real boy.
would give my heart for it, if I knew who had it, I would travel the
world if I had a companion.
But in reality, I am a mere puppet with strings.
Where’s my fairy to grant me my wish?