Right so, I really can't believe I haven't shared this with you ladies, since it's been spread everywhere else. But this is a poem that I wrote for my Sociology class last semester (summer semester). It was for my final project, and we had to do something (anything really) that related to the topics we were dealing with in class. Race, Sex, Class, Gender, etc. So I decided to write a three part poem based on Race and Class, and how it pertains to young ladies coming out to their parents. One is a white, rich, butchy lesbian, the second is a mixed, middle class, FtM, and the last is a black, poor, femme lesbian. I'm really trying to get this, and other poems I've written, published somewhere. But all that in time.
Note: Don't take this poem as a generalization of coming out between these guidelines. I know every situation is different.
She's not like other girls
Born with a silver spoon cradling her tongue
Never wanting for anything as she's fed by cooks and loved by maids
She was always shown that her pretty porcelin skin signified she wass better, higher than the rest
Because her long blonde hair and her baby blue eyes made her mommy's little angel
But God knows she wasn't
Those frills in her dresses were rejected for baseball caps and bb-guns
Always scolded by her mother because she'd ruin her lace stockings for baggy jeans and band t-shirts
And when she cut her hair short to keep it out of her face, her mother damn near had a heart attack
Only worsened by the sight of her baby angel's soft lips placed happily on the lips of another girl
But father says just push that under the radar
"We don't want the neighbors asking questions."
Because prestige and class has no room for girls who like girls
Rumors run high and mother says "Just keep that to yourself,"
"We have a reputation to uphold."
So she's buried away and pushed down
Because she's raised Catholic and the world doesn't need to know she's going to hell
"No don't wear that suit, we don't want people getting curious about you."
"Don't want them knowing you're a dyke, we've got too much influence in this town."
She'll be the dirty little secret that no one wants to think about anymore
She's not normal
No, she can't be
Because when she looks in the mirror all she see's is a he, trapped in the wrong body
She is not a she
But no one can believe him because appearance is everything
And even though mama looks like coffee and daddy is the color of cream
Diversity and understanding can only go so far
Making middle class money, who's got the time to think about what can't be seen
Who's got the cash to turn her into something she's not, just because she thinks she is
Mama says, "We may live comfortably, but that's just too much."
But he knows he's not a her
He's not a lesbian
Just a straight boy who wants a girlfriend
Stuck in the body of the body he wants to be with
He screams, "You can't tell me what I know."
He feels dirty in his skin, like a stranger in his own home
God must be punishing him for another life
Because this is the worst type of torture, knowing who you are and having no one to believe
So she's told to just stick with what she is
To sink in the mudslide that's dragging him underneath the surface
She's different
Except she looks just like everyone else
Ebony skin and thick black hair that shows how deep her roots run
She's mama's baby girl, pretty as a picture
Like a little black doll with perfect lips and big brown eyes
And when she walks down the streets of the projects, every thug wants to call her up
But she don't want that
She don't want no prince or king to hold her hand
She wants to find a strong queen to stand on her side
Holding her close like she's never been held because that's what feels so right
But mama ain't having that
Money's already tight and she got enough to worry about
"My daughter ain't gay,"
"Now go find you a man that can take care of us."
Because daddy never came home and no one seems to care that they're sinking farther under the poverty line
And she's got brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews that look up to her
So she can't stress out her mama by liking girls who dress like boys
And it don't help that everyone keeps saying she's too pretty to be gay
Too straight-looking to be queer
But that's only skin deep, just like the color of her skin
She's different, not normal
Unlike other girls
Note: Don't take this poem as a generalization of coming out between these guidelines. I know every situation is different.
She's not like other girls
Born with a silver spoon cradling her tongue
Never wanting for anything as she's fed by cooks and loved by maids
She was always shown that her pretty porcelin skin signified she wass better, higher than the rest
Because her long blonde hair and her baby blue eyes made her mommy's little angel
But God knows she wasn't
Those frills in her dresses were rejected for baseball caps and bb-guns
Always scolded by her mother because she'd ruin her lace stockings for baggy jeans and band t-shirts
And when she cut her hair short to keep it out of her face, her mother damn near had a heart attack
Only worsened by the sight of her baby angel's soft lips placed happily on the lips of another girl
But father says just push that under the radar
"We don't want the neighbors asking questions."
Because prestige and class has no room for girls who like girls
Rumors run high and mother says "Just keep that to yourself,"
"We have a reputation to uphold."
So she's buried away and pushed down
Because she's raised Catholic and the world doesn't need to know she's going to hell
"No don't wear that suit, we don't want people getting curious about you."
"Don't want them knowing you're a dyke, we've got too much influence in this town."
She'll be the dirty little secret that no one wants to think about anymore
She's not normal
No, she can't be
Because when she looks in the mirror all she see's is a he, trapped in the wrong body
She is not a she
But no one can believe him because appearance is everything
And even though mama looks like coffee and daddy is the color of cream
Diversity and understanding can only go so far
Making middle class money, who's got the time to think about what can't be seen
Who's got the cash to turn her into something she's not, just because she thinks she is
Mama says, "We may live comfortably, but that's just too much."
But he knows he's not a her
He's not a lesbian
Just a straight boy who wants a girlfriend
Stuck in the body of the body he wants to be with
He screams, "You can't tell me what I know."
He feels dirty in his skin, like a stranger in his own home
God must be punishing him for another life
Because this is the worst type of torture, knowing who you are and having no one to believe
So she's told to just stick with what she is
To sink in the mudslide that's dragging him underneath the surface
She's different
Except she looks just like everyone else
Ebony skin and thick black hair that shows how deep her roots run
She's mama's baby girl, pretty as a picture
Like a little black doll with perfect lips and big brown eyes
And when she walks down the streets of the projects, every thug wants to call her up
But she don't want that
She don't want no prince or king to hold her hand
She wants to find a strong queen to stand on her side
Holding her close like she's never been held because that's what feels so right
But mama ain't having that
Money's already tight and she got enough to worry about
"My daughter ain't gay,"
"Now go find you a man that can take care of us."
Because daddy never came home and no one seems to care that they're sinking farther under the poverty line
And she's got brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews that look up to her
So she can't stress out her mama by liking girls who dress like boys
And it don't help that everyone keeps saying she's too pretty to be gay
Too straight-looking to be queer
But that's only skin deep, just like the color of her skin
She's different, not normal
Unlike other girls
