Look at them:
Pretty plastic, sugar coated,
Just fantastic,
BIMBOS.
Waltzing down
the
street clicking the sidewalk with their heels.
Giggling about a new boy,
a new dress,
but not about a new world.
They’re more concerned with their hair,
than the air –
that’s being contaminated
by the capitalistic market.
Factories pumping out new mini-skirts and polo shirts.
Cookie cutter clothing
For their cookie cutter lives.
Mechanical.
Robotic.
Where’s the originality?
Where’s the personality?
You may look at me with
Eyes wide,
Wonder why,
My cords are baggy and my curls fly.
I wear a phat headie piece and
I wear it with PRIDE.
I’m not made of metal and
My spirit is ALIVE.
Every part of me is homegrown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem