I remember when they came,
they saw, they envied,
so they changed.
I remember when they taught growing black girls
not to love the skin they’re in.
They said change your hair and you’ll fit in.
Together we spoke music, magic, happiness and sound.
But they didn’t have enough rhythm
to understand what came from our mouth.
I remember when they injected a single-toned sound and called it school.
they made us stand in rows like piano sheet lines.
Sounding as flat as a D minus.
They erased all we stood for, loved, believed, including our history.
They told us the colour of our skin resembled evil, unlovable.
And we believed them.
I remember when we were taught
that God had made a mistake in creating us.
They judged God’s work and we believed them.
Look at me and say I’m not beautiful.
I am from dust, loved so much, created to resemble God’s purest of creations.
We are Mother Earth, sun-kissed and gifted by God.