He told me I was a magnetic rose
That grew from concrete
As if his overused Tupac reference
Would impress me,
He rubbed his fingertips against my arms,
Bragging about my soft skin
Oh, I’m sorry, he called my limbs petals
Said my words were the thorns
Because I quickly dismissed him
But HE still saw my beauty
So he doesn’t mind me playing
Hard to get
As if my existence, my value
Depends on his metaphorical approval
And him capturing me, joining his bouquet
Yet, never seeing what was behind the rose,
A woman. A Black woman.
Mother Nature, A creator
Does he not see the billions of children
Released from my womb
Does he not see his mother’s mother’s mother’s
Turmoil in the fields
Our melanin darkened by an unforgiving sun
That a world connected to ugliness
And Mama Maya reminded us to Rise
Still, he doesn’t see the life risks
The sacrifices, the reason
For everyone’s existence
I am more than a rose
I am your provider, your strength
Your pride, your honor
Your lifeline, your reason
I am who you should thank
We raised you when men like you left
We loved you when you didn’t love yourself
We carried you before you came to existence
And we’ll watch over you when our souls are lifted
So excuse me if I missed your attempt at a compliment
But I’m not a rose that grew from concrete
I’m the woman that planted the field.
By Taryn Nicole Biggs