She walks the walk, she talks the talk
She looks the part; you feed off of her energy
She is confident and happy, but bound and broken
She loves and lives, but cries and doubts, although
She is beautiful, but she doesn’t know it.
She mocks herself, and stabs herself
She bleeds endlessly, and never moves on
She hates herself, she hates her fate
She feels alone, she needs to know why
She is beautiful, but she doesn’t know it.
She can dive and delve, in the contours of pigment
She is sensual and she is beautiful
She is cautious and she is versatile
She is a mirror of her society, to me
She is beautiful, and I know it.
She sheds the tears, of the African sun
She shouts the cry, of a bold spirit
She deserves a toast, for she plays her part
She was, she is, she will always be because
She is beautiful and she must know it.
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