In my poetry class we discussed poet and activist Gwendolyn Brooks. Our professor explained to us how many of Brooks’ poems were most inspired by her platform to correct women’s self-image of themselves. She had us do an exercise where we closed our eyes and thought about ourselves as children, pre-teens and now. After thinking, we were then instructed to draw or write whatever was brought to mind. I, being a writer, thought of a poem. I couldn’t help but to continue to think about myself in middle school. As I began to write, my words began to take the shape of a letter to my younger self. So, here it is, untitled, but finished.

Dainty, little black girl

head over heels for beauty.

You know that you are beautiful,

yet others had you confused for

duckling, for misfit, for bone and

acne.

You hated your mother’s struggle

and craved your daddy’s love

get things back to how they used to be.

Little, black girl, you’re so different

noticed by the squint of your eyes

and those moles on your cheek

You were never given the encouragement

to not grow so you planted

your feet in fertile ambition and was

able to sprout potential.

Others never really understood

your mind, trying to make you

think that your body was the

gateway to limelight.

Suitors didn’t come lined up at the door, but rather stood

in the hallway, without speech, without acknowledgement.

Hims hurt you, but you were still able to have

head high enough to seem okay,

but low enough to seem a little bit broken.

Little, black girl, don’t listen to what they tell you.

With words unspoken

and bleeding pen

you have a gift.

You’re going places,

so don’t let the stench of those dead to you distract you

from that peaceful aura.

Don’t let hands destroy the beauty God has built up.

But instead,

be unique, be awkward, be brown,

be nappy, it’s okay to admit that you’re hurt,

be intelligent, write poems, thank mama, remember daddy,

go to church, be a friend, be loved.

Little, black girl, you are beautiful.

So, be beautiful.

I don’t know if anyone ever told you,

but black women were made to be queens.

Adored over glistening brow and strong backs.

You.

Are.

Strong enough.

Little, black girl.

-Esha