Oxymorons
I’m not jealous, never been a hater
we just got different goals.
I’m trying to produce and you trying to play roles.
Ain’t nothing wrong with what you want,
but I’m trying to surpass to higher levels,
you just want to pass the blunt.
Ain’t nothing wrong if you want to smoke.
My ass naturally stands out, you force yours to poke.
We both can be cute; the world can have different views.
Who says I’m right, who says you’re wrong?
We both can be dope like Cheech and Chong.
Who says you’re wrong, who says I’m right?
Cause you fuck with local dealers and I’m a billionaire’s type.
When they try to pit women against each other,
don’t believe the hype.
Cause when I was thirteen I was learning how to type
while you were focused on how your body was getting ripe.
Either way, somewhere there was a grown man lurking
trying to “put us on game” and teach us right.
At some point we all make mistakes.
At some point we all got played.
It’s about your support system and who you have in your corner
that determines your outcome.
Sometimes we get caught up and fall for bums.
Sometimes we get married just to feel loved.
Not realizing that love can’t come from me, him, or her.
It takes a lot of pain to learn self-worth.
When you’re young your brain is like a sponge.
Social media is like water and we drink that shit up,
oblivious to the fact that pictures are only moments.
Not realizing how many times it took for the camera to get focused.
Or how many times you had to rearrange poses.
Or how many photos got deleted cause you got betrayed by those
closest.
We reveal our world like a wishing well where we throw in tokens.
Wishing our world was like the people we follow,
while the people we follow have a pride they haven’t swallowed,
to show you their world isn’t anything to follow cause they too
have problems.
’m not the type to believe the hype,
so you can miss me with that shit and kiss me goodnight.
Most days you’ll catch me posted in bed with this paper and pen
hoping that one day this writing shit will help me to provide.
Sweet temptations of vacations and baecations.
Right now the most adventure I get is on my PlayStation,
but I’ll take that over traveling with a disoriented marriage and
fake faces.
Give me that money for marriage counseling or drinks with my closest friends.
Don’t get caught up in these Insta stories and Snapchat trends.
In the blink of an eye you’ll miss it like the person who posted it
who wanted you to think their life is interesting.
I’m boring and I’ll take that,
but I’ll also take my real-life story and reach out to someone who
needs a pat on the back.
Someone who’s thinking their life is off track
cause they’re not married or taking trips to Dubai or comparing
their bodies, thinking they’re fat.
Keep it real, post the facts.
We only show the world what we define as success.
Just cause you don’t have a thousand followers or a blue check
doesn’t mean you’re any less
cause to someone in your family you’re probably the best.
The first to go to college but probably in debt.
The first to buy a house but can’t afford the tax.
The first to get married but have a negative pregnancy test.
Bad comes with the good; good comes with the bad.
Sometimes we just need a shoulder when we lag
cause no matter how big and pretty your house is
that dirt gon’ come off the same when you take a bath.
Depressed Black Girl
Dear World, May I ask for a few minutes to feel?
Can I have permission to take time to heal?
I know it’s been ruled that I’m strong, but I would like to appeal.
Can you spare a second of your preconceived notions for my sanity?
When I say “Black Girl Magic” I don’t mean it in vanity.
It’s about being betrayed, belittled, bullied, and the target of a
bullet.
I need more than a pat on the back and being told I’ll get through it.
I’m bearing the burden of generational curses from traumatic
experiences I’m not even responsible for.
I’m confused, a mess, molested, queen, slave.
A white girl’s muse and a white man’s whore.
I birthed a nation that put me in last place.
So many replicas that you forget my original face.
Big lipped, brown, nappy crown, thick thighs that saved your lives and
you can’t even bow down?
I speak real loud but must not be making a sound cause I clap...my
hands...to get...your attention!
Thought of last but looked to first.
How dare I be sad when someone’s going through worst?
Mocked and so afraid, I walk through crowds so brave.
At home I shamefully cry in my pillow.
I’ve gotten comfortable with hiding my pain.
“FUCK IT! I’LL DO IT MYSELF!”
has become a motto of our stealth.
If I’m poor I deserve it, you only respect my wealth.
Single and single-handedly getting shit done.
“Mother, may I?” if I have little ones.
Married and you still see me as a stereotype,
Collecting welfare like candy, but sweet tooths still bring plight.
I don’t deserve love because I put up an extra fight?
Because I demand your best and speak my mind?
No matter what I do I can’t get right.
My titties can feed your babies yet you say I’m tainted.
My hair is nappy yet you want to play in it.
My ass too big yet you want a big rump.
My lips too big yet you want a pout that’s plump.
You say I’m crazy yet look what you’ve made me.
You’ve contradicted my standard of beauty.
I’m not okay and you wouldn’t know it.
My melanin disguises my wrinkles and frustration.
We make depression look like a vacation.
We disguise our pain in this world.
Sincerely,
A Depressed Black Girl
Jasmine Renee Parker, artistically known as Soul Candy, is a native of Detroit, Michigan. A Bowling Green State University alum, she received her bachelor’s degree in journalism. Jasmine has had an innate passion and gift for creative writing since she was a child, which was nurtured by mentors and peers that observed her potential. She is the mother to two daughters (her muses) and the author of the three-volume series Still Not Satisfied: A Collection of Poems & Short Stories with more pieces in the works.