For seven days, she took several seats
as she watched the world pass her by
every unfinished tear, incomplete
because they said African women don't cry
She had a smile finer than the Mona Lisa painting
Beauty delicate and fair and maintaining
But you have never seen her cry
and not once have you asked why
Flaws reconstructed on a white canvas
Laid bare, exposed to the world
Like a fine incrusted diamond
Every single strand of beauty that curled
Woven together, a bond of thread
Each hair counted
Each pigment caressed
Nonetheless, she is God’s greatest creation
I see the stars in her complexion
And the perfection of the moon in her eyes
But I also see pain, and a little bit of rain
a black drain with a plain chain
She's been crying for years...
So perhaps she's been hurting in silence
Because she can’t access the help to seek, to speck
After all, a strong black woman can’t look so weak
Should this be her burden to bear
If it’s the price to pay
Should she go and speak her mind
or hold her tongue and stay
African women don’t cry
