She's Beauty on the inside, Bad on the outside. She stays hydrated and fully moisturized and glowed up. She's growth and change in a world of fear and stuck in the mud. She smells like cherries, pineapples, and tropical fruit. She's deep in her bag and always understands the assignment. She does it for the culture and for herself, code switching and keeping it all the way one hunnid. Maybe it's the creamy strawberry gelato or the guava that powers her power, her creativity, her agency. Or maybe it's the tart lemons and limes that keeps that thang thangin'. Nobody's fuckin' with her because she takes up the entire lane. Her heart is pure and petty and often underestimated.
She's the Suns, the Moons, the Stars, and the Shadows. She doesn't have seats because she's the whole table, the chairs, the room, and the sweet deal waiting to be signed. Imagine questioning her when she's The Answer.
BGM smells like Black Women Deserve Better, and We’re Gonna Have It, Dammit. We Rest, but We Never Stop.