Interwoven Beauty

I had to sit down and calculate​.

 No you see, I was in a Math classSo I had to sit down. 

And calculate. Not to find x on the board. 

But to find out Y Mrs. Smith said I had interwoven beauty. 

Because among the salt, she could not believe. 

No she could not think my dirt was pure. 
I know I am pretty. I know I am buff. 

That’s what the streets tell me. 

That what the wind whispers right before I sleep.  

Every night. 

But interwoven beauty?? I think not. 
You’re from Ghana, right?

Y is this lady still in front of me. I need to find Y. 

But her expression neutral, she continued her pursuit. 

You ever seen the Kente cloth, Ohemaa??

Why is this lady in front of me?? 

I know my melanin paps, all ingredients to a Tumblristic Black Out. 

But interwoven beauty?? I know not.
Starting to sound like Wikepedia she continued…

Her black letter approach putting my mind to bed…

All while confusing me, all sake of interwoven what??

Famous you are for being the only melaninated girl, just like Kente. 

Bright colours to show your prestige, a long line of slaves you were born from. 

Royalty because your great great grandfather must have been a King who despised his ugly child. 

You are the exceptional beauty many people of your colour want to be.

Be happy that you can be spotted in the mass cloth of purity. 

For your interwoven colour can always be spotted from the back of an audience. 

Your interwoven beauty is the only chance you gain at having an audience. 
Fuck her for her comparison. 

Her flowery words to confuse me. 

To make me think I am opulent for a black nigress??

 To congratulate my smartness for cleverly avoiding the ghetto?? 

Fuck her for putting me in a box.
I thought she was going to tell me my heart was pure. 

My words only spoke of beauty. 

I thought she was going to compare my hair to candy floss, at least make one racial joke. 

That I was innocent of the mistakes of the past. 

I thought she was going to talk about my whole demeanour. 

My whole demeanour, being an engine of change. 

But she opened her mouth, and rubbish came. 

She opened her mouth and I lost hope.