Don’t Judge the Cover of My Book
Females
If I gain a little weight, I am too much or fat.
If I get too skinny, I am not enough.
If I wear makeup, you say, “Be natural.”
If I stay natural, you say, “Ugly.”
No matter what I do is wrong to someone.
Men
If I show emotions, I’m soft.
If I’m just nice, I’m trying too hard.
If I don’t, I’m dirty.
If I talk a lot, I’m annoying.
If I stay quiet, I’m weird.
If I focus on school, I’m boring.
If I don’t, I’m dumb.
If I trust people, I get played.
If I don’t, I’m hard to deal with.
No matter what I do is wrong to someone.
Society
The internet rules, judging us humans by the cover of our books,
but are not reading the chapters inside.
I mean, why?
Why do we judge our people by race,
our hair or face,
how we act
and how we don’t act?
You’re over here wondering why I can’t be myself,
because if I act like you, I am cool,
but if I act like me, I am weird.
Amazing buildup of affection,
She is an iconic vigour,
Fights with society
To affirm her existence
In this bitter world.
Owns the wings of courage,
Aspires to touch the horizon,
Smashes stereotypes,
Eludes the cage of suffocation.
Compiling memoirs of ordeals,
Blazes her woes away,
Reflects a gracious smile,
And utters words in appraisal.
Illustrates a glorious extent,
Prompting decisive impulses,
Attempts to fortify her pals
Towards their prospects.
I wanna
I wanna ride a bike
It's my spike
It's in the night
Just like a knight
Speed must be over
My engine roar must hover
Rain must there
Windy shouldn't care
I wanna loud
Want to reach cloud
Just wanna shout
When everyone's voice is out
I am a girl , my hairs are wavy
This is the dream of mine , it's not something crazy
I want to roar
Isoar
I wanna be free
I am hell tired of being a tree
I am simple, having a pimple
Let the world rest ,I am done with test
Lets one night come
When I would be out
Rain will be there
Wind shouldn't care
Speed must be over
My engine should roar
Its my spike
I wanna ride bike
Poet :Bhoomi Bhardwaj
The ‘angry black woman’,
Is me -
We can agree to agree,
Because u see,
I am proud to be - a black woman who is angry
When I see me, I see a fiery spirit,
A passionate girl with nothing to lose -
Except my sanity,
To be happy,
I must be -
The black woman who is angry
Everyday is a battle of strength,
And by the end of the day there is nothing left to give ,
Because to be black is to exist - not live ,
To hide your emotions -
To clench your fist -
To resist,
The urge to scream, to cause havoc
So yes i’m angry - and no i’m not ignorant,
I am just sick and tired of holding it in -
Of pleading my case,
Giving evidence,
And yet after all this -
Still be treated like a mental patient,
Labelled as the ‘angry black woman’
The stereotype -
They label as a disease -
One that takes our right to speak -
To have free speech,
So yes i’m an angry black woman -
And no,
That doesn’t make me crazy
To be an angry black woman,
Is to -
Reclaim the narrative,
Of the right to speak -
On the issues,
You claim -
To be -
Non existent,
I am an angry black woman -
Because I care about my people
‘She’s doing excellent’ -
B-U-T,
She could speak up more,
Maybe even -
Participate
To the girl -
Something does not sit right,
She DOES participate,
So why does this teacher lie,
She can’t help but feel undermined -
Whenever she speaks in class, she is stereotyped
On the inside she cries,
On the outside she smiles -
In fear the teacher will tell another lie
Her parents notice but they don’t pry,
They empathise, because they understand why
They know if they speak -
She’ll be expelled,
And this is the best school in their town,
They don’t want to ruin her chances, to become what they couldn’t,
The daughter understands, this happened to them as well
The therapist was a mirror of myself,
She wore the same skin -
She understood the words from my mouth
She said -
‘It’s okay to be black, and ask for help’
She validated my pain, her voice made me calm
She told me -
‘Just because you're a black girl, doesn’t mean you have to be strong’
She taught me to by myself,
She allowed my softness to come out
My therapist shared my experiences,
And i have never felt so seen,
To help me feel more comfortable, she opened up to me,
And now i feel safe to share my vulnerabilities
‘Nappy’
They call my curls a mystery,
An enigma to unwrap -
They feel the need to touch,
Then laugh when I get mad
They call it a crime scene -
‘How nobody could love that’
They call her wild and untamed,
My hair is not to be shamed
They treat my hair like a game -
‘Guess what hairstyle she has today’
They question the growth,
As if it’s one size only -
A black girls hair created the word diversity
The intricate pattern of curls,
How we are not restricted to one pattern
My hair is not an exhibition,
It’s not for your eyes to consume
My hair may be art,
But just like the mona lisa -
Touching is not allowed
The girl and her moon
Hers, in the bond they shared
Hers , because it was the only one who cared
No expectations, just comfort
No microaggressions, just acceptance
A quiet bond between two who understood,
What it's like to be misunderstood
The girl, quiet, in fear of judgement
The moon silent, in sadness from being overlooked
Yet, even in their state, both managed to light up -
Every room they encountered
The power of silence favoured them both
Neither had to speak to attract attention
The light they emit, speaks for their presence
What comes across as a curse, an unwelcome burden
Becomes their biggest strength
Quiet and unassuming, people underestimate -
The gravity of their power,
Mistaken weakness, upholds their greatness
The underdog, shouldn't be mocked -
For they will end up victorious
The girl and her moon end up the winners
Undermining their power, makes you the loser
A black boy stands in front of a mirror
Practicing how to address an officer
"Yes officer"
I promise I'm good
I won't cause no trouble just because I'm from the hood
I won't make a noise
I won't make a sound
I'll make sure to leave the hood of my hoodie down
No frown on my face
You dont need to tell me I already know my place
You dont need to remind me of my race
"Yes officer"
I am in school
I also have a future I'm looking forward to
No I don't sell drugs
I'm just playing football
And yes I live in this neighbourhood
Black people can be rich too
"Yes officer"
My father is around
Never been to prison but is the mayor of this town
As for my mother she is a lawyer and that makes me proud
We aren't on food stamps
In fact we are the type of people to give back
And yes we can afford to do that
"Yes officer"
I'm black
But that doesn't give you the right to attack
after still I Rise by Maya Angelou
They said, "too loud, too wild, too much"—
so she learned to burn with a softer touch.
But thunder lived behind her face,
and silence wore her fiercest grace.
They carved her worth in smaller space,
then crowned it "grace" to know her place.
But she was made of deeper things—
not ribbons, rules, or borrowed wings.
She didn't rise to please their gaze,
or fit inside their staged displays.
The ground they gave was false, contrived—
so she rewrote it just to survive.
Now every step is storm and flame,
they whisper wild when they say her name.
But she's not theirs to dim or tame—
She rose. She roared. she burned the game.
~hira ~
I am vulnerable, confused, flawed, twisted
I am what I am.
I don’t want to cook,
don’t want to clean.
I don’t want to be
A wife or a mother.
I choose what I will not be.
I can wear a six yard
or a two piece
I can shun style
And chose comfort instead.
I decide to look how I feel.
I may soar, I may burrow,
I may sail smooth
Or dive deep with in
I steer my life as per my wish.
Do not give me names
nor assign roles,
do not set standards
and place me in boxes.
I am not a commodity.
You are not the creator.
We are but children of Nature
Unbound by roles,
Both wild and free.
Let us embrace isness
and create some harmony.
Her disappointment
Has outlasted her a lifetime
She now hates all men
Because of one awful man
Stereotyping sadness
middle aged and middle class
driving way too fast
on country lanes
drop the kid at school
group yoga then the pool
prosecco and wealth envy over lunch
on to a manicure and then hair
(you won’t believe who I saw there)
send conspiratorial text or two; update facebook
get some vino, and the kid - shoot back home
knock back another glass of wine;
have a gossip on the phone
revving engine on the driveway: dinner’s bell
pour a cobra; grab a takeout menu
domestic bliss? suburban hell?
Hey you! what do you do, what's your name,
and why you seem so weird;
Why so silent and timid like a deer,
Why you don't act like us, why you won't interact with us;
Do you have any problems or any underlying fears?
Alas, you enquired my friend,
All your stereotypes have hurt me badly,
As spectacular as this world is,
just see through my rimmed spectacles
how unfair were you sadly,
gladly I held my own, like a horse with blinders on,
spending my nights chasing the dawn.
I reflect back and smile,
not meek but rather unique,
I was, not a pawn a knight I was,
at times in life, you need to sit back and reflect,
the pain would go away slowly,
cause it's easy to hurt but takes time to heal.
The country is changing is what they say,
But does the outlook of people actually count?
Still, that old stereotypical mindset is what they display,
Letting the entire mankind down.
One steps out, and there they are, umpteen scanning eyes,
Golden highlights, ripped jeans, short skirt is what catches their sight,
A new way discovered by the crowd to characterize,
Having no one around to tell that everything's alright.
Wardrobe malfunction is the next new crime,
Gawking them, making them feel victimized,
Informing them can also work sometimes,
But here in the changing country, it can never be recognised.
One ends up doing outdoor activities indoor,
Reason being all the unnecessary ogles,
Why not engage in some household chores?
Allowing others to relax their ankles.
As long as the country comprises the people,
The concept of changing country remains a big lie,
If at all it becomes illegal,
Maybe then the mass would give it a try.
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