By: Sophia Merine (’25), Staff Writer
What do we tell our Black babies?
That they are worthy?
That they are beautiful?
Nobody else will.
I wonder if
The girls who laughed at my curls
still remember.
Now they want to look like me.
I wonder if
the boys who called me names
Still remember.
I used to let it hurt me.
Ashamed of my own skin.
Tears dried in the crevice of my wide nose.
I always felt at home
When my mother braided my hair.
I felt close to her when
her hands separated my onyx coils.
My lips remind me
Of where I come from.
The many women before me,
And those who will come after.
I will tell my black babies
That they are beautiful.
That they are worthy.
