A poem about being free to be the woman my father God made me, through my walk with Jesus |
Free to wear our own hair, and wrap it this way, Free to me be me and don’t care what you say, And if you should mean mug me it’s ok I understand that you are a hater of all that is African Now Asians, Italians Hispanics, Jews etc. Don’t have to change their hair to fit in, But no matter what a sista do, she can’t win Can’t break even or get outta their game Just because I’m free, you hatin me, now that's a doggone shame If I followed your way, whitened my skin, permed my hair Did it your way, then your culture would accept me Oh yeah I’d be ok, But I don’t like it that way, All natural yes baby that’s me, loving myself, unconditionally When I died, and permed, and plucked, it never worked anyway I understand it’s a waste of time to try to fix a work of art… ok? Yes God is the artist, and you are the masterpiece Everything is in place, you’re what he created you to be Now you know you could never even hope to paint a better painting Than the one that God calls you, what a creation! So what makes you think that you could be so clever, As to upgrade what God created, no it gets no better, And every doctor posing as an artist, I’m calling them all liars, Destroying works of art for gain, we all sit back while they continue to conspire, But I’m giving Satan notice, hey yo it’s time for you to retire, People are waking up and realizing that yous a liar, We don’t need your make-up, botox, cologen, or plastic surgery, We can see you who for who you are because our minds have been set free |