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Accept me for who I am not for who you want me to be.
I don`t perfect my hair because you might see me and say 'What was she thinking? '

I love the way it feels to blown in the wind, like angels spinning around me.
So yes I curl it high, let my locks fly, and go on doing my thing.

I Dont wear make-up to cover up who I am inside. My face, my look, is based on my mood of the day, an accent to beyond what sees with the eye.

I walk with my head held high not because I feel Im on a high horse, But because I am a confident Black woman proud of what God has made of me.

I am who I am because of my imperfections, My wide nose, chinky eyes, Short in height, bright skinned, a lil` thick at the theighs.

My high cheekbones, or unmarked face, my wardrobe, or hairdo, or signature walk doesnt define who I am.

My flaws make me who you see. The imperfects is what makes you remember me, differs from others but put together accordingly.

I take the good with the bad, the nerdness the swag and smile because I`m not perfect nor concident, My flaws makes me who I am.
Sequoey Peay
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Bonnie Lundgren 15 August 2010
At first read, this did not seem a poem. But the continuing simplicity of your statements make this a poem-story, powerful and impressive. Thank you so much.
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