Poem 01: Lipstick
when i was twelve
my musical theatre middle school class
eagerly went to perform for a crowd of strangers.
girls as pretty and pale as every princess from my childhood put on radiant red lipstick as they prepared for the production.
i was told that,
“Black girls can’t wear red
lipstick.”
why?
apparently, the richness of our skin didn’t go with the rubies and roses that compliment fairer faces.
our lips were too wide
and dark to bloom fields of
poppies
peonies
and
petunias.
we had to stick with earth tones
but i thought that was only an excuse to keep treating us like dirt.
Black people can’t wear red lipstick
or have blonde hair
because they’ll look like Duracell batteries-
a joke one of my leaders once made and my white
(at the time)
boyfriend reiterated
when i suggested i get braids
as yellow as sunshine.
Black people can’t wear red lipstick
or
have blonde hair
or
put on tights that match their skin tone
because they either come in white girl
neutral or Midnight Black
because we are not the standard of beauty
and the standard will not inconvenience itself to fit our
skin,
shape,
sizes,
stereotypes.
———————————————————
when i was twenty-three
i directed a play for middle school students in Minnesota.
there was only one Black child in the cast.
she had Cantu cream in her backpack and a need for hands that could handle her hair.
i gathered her curls,
familiar with how they felt because of my own tresses
and proudly pulled it back in a ponytail-
not too hard though,
in case she was tender-headed.
i told her how beautiful her texture was.
i told her how wonderfully her Brown eyes sparkled.
i complimented the way the red of the
lipstick looked against her skin.
looking at her,
finally,
i had been freed of the lies i was once told
and i learned that
Black skin
and full lips
were made for red.