“Being the arkward black girl”

In rooms of laughter, light and ease,  
I thread my path—no effortless breeze—  
My hair a crown of tangled pride,  
My jokes a river, nerves beside.

I am the pause, the stuttered start,  
The one picked last in schoolyard art,  
My skin a sonnet, deep and brown,  
In towns where smiles can weigh you down.

I dance with edges, step offbeat,  
My fandoms niche, my words discreet,  
Wrong punchlines gripped between my teeth,  
Old hopes for coolness stored beneath.

Yet, in the mirror—see her stand!—  
The quirks like gardens, lush and grand;  
Kinks, curls, and glasses over eyes  
That see the world past worn disguise.

I am the dream in comic books,  
Corduroy sleeves, compassion’s looks,  
I snort at memes, rewatch old shows,  
Both space and earth within me grow.

Awkward? Yes, it’s true enough—  
But in my rhythm, bold and rough,  
A world of worlds begins to swirl—  
Here walks the awkward black girl.

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