• Z'heir Khali

Compexion Confessions



All my life I've been in awe Of the Nubian Nisa. Honey, Cinnamon, Carmel, Butter Cream, Molasses ones.

Intellect with a dialect. Round everything: I admit. Yes, I am intrigued but quite beside myself with why they neglect.

Must I drive something more expensive than their eyes have ever witnessed? Wear jeans that retail at ludicrous digits without wincing? My shoes were not as new so they'd snigger and assume. Pure reflections of oppression: Our own women do the jesting.

What they seek and what they say Are polar ops and not magnetic. Magnanimity breeds regrets; all they've been fed is B.E.T. BS.

Once you become what they respect they're onto something new, It's so deceptive. All the clout that you've accrued through major moves-simply rejected.

You hear them speak of power couples: Brown legends of longevity! Barack and Michelle! With a dash of Beyonce and Jay Z.

Though their actions are so different. Quite plain for all to see. Their rhetoric unappealing. Fueled by gossip and ratchetry.

This skin is so divisive! History full of deceit. No matter that which I put upon my body or in my brain they won’t concede.

Painted red by most all fathers; even the ones who look like me. Stigmatized by those who colonize and every other ethnicity.

Oftentimes I used to wonder, ponder and think. Weighing why's and why nots... Until I become one with my sleep.

I put in thrice the effort Yet receive half the fee. Born to fight. Day and night. Expected to do it all from my knees.

Thus when I succeed I become what cross fit Shelly needs. Only then they notice me. Only then they want to speak.


Z.Y. Khali

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