One night I saw a brown toned she
Pushing a cart filled with paper and plastic bags
She looked a little rough around the edges and wearing dirty grimy rags
That dirty. grimy she, talking to herself and walking like she's half dizzy
She is a descendant of a Blaque Kweene
Yesterday while on the Ave I glided past caramel she
With ten pounds of make up caked onto her face
She nearly looked like a man in drag
The one I speak of is constantly on the stroll selling her precious body for a nickel or dime bag
I'm sure that you've seen her; she represents the schemer, the streetwalker, and the crack fiend
Although she's confused and has been misguided, there's royalty in her blood, she's a blaque kweene
Many are leering at the red toned she pushing her screaming baby down the street in a brand new stroller
They're saying she's just a baby herself, and it aint even a baby's daddy there to console her
You may just be related to this girl and there are those that can say they've been there themselves
She's single, undereducated,
under aged, she wears no ring
She has new responsibility and that changes her ranking from pryncess to that of a blaque kweene
Sitting on my stoop this morning and observing the morning's activity
The cinnamon skinned she was sportin a shiner
to read more of this deep piece, go to publishamerica.com and order Portionte` Floes' debut book of poetry, titled...
I'm Still Growing Vol. 1!
