Tag, you’re it!

Cracked dry lips,

I was still outrun.

This tag, my label, proved the inevitable has come.

Black girl is written in bold black letters; Arial font,

I wish it were written in pink instead. 

But I’m not the one holding the marker, 

I do not own the rights of the author.

The strings attached to being Black are too stifling.

What exactly does society expect of me?

To be loud, aggressive, ghetto?

Are these the thoughts that flood the mind before I even utter the word “Hello”?

I really like poetry.

I like showing off my femininity.

I like being fragile.

I simply wish my heart wasn’t put on constant trial.

Alas, these are the cards I have been dealt with,

These are naturally the rules of the game.

Though I ask, in what world is this game is fair,

When I never even asked to play.