It's not that I don't love myself, but I just can't accept being forced to fit into a box labeled, "this is who you are" when I've made a box for myself labeled "this is who I am".

We don't correlate. My name is Lydia named after my great grandmother but my family and friends call me Liddie.

I prefer Liddie.

I find myself too often asking:

If black bodies can run, if black bodies can survive, if black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, and I realize I can't run fast enough, I can't survive in this box white America, black America has predisposition my black skin to stick to, and all I've ever known is I'll drown if I get too closely acquainted with water, is Lydia worth fighting for? I've obviously been pegged to be more like Russian doll than woman, unraveling a larger piece of myself every time I hear her name! "LYDIA", I'm finding myself constantly nitpicking at the petals on this rose until I am thorned by Lydia's identity.

I have too many cuts on my body to count. Shattered glass amends the holes I didn't even know I had. Mirrors have always been my friend. But when your friend keeps cursing you, you have every right to defend yourself! They keep lying to me. I can't trust mirrors anymore, they keep screaming at me this black body is beautiful, but all I hear is you dirty black bitch! Nobody will ever love you because you can't even seem to understand the difference between seeking the worth in someone else and seeking the true meaning of self-worth for yourself. Nobody else can love but you. Lydia fights me all the time. Lydia and Liddie are two different identities fighting like The Conquest of Africa, Great Britain is colonizing my continent before my eyes, ripping my culture from me like Eygpt doesn't belong to you anymore Liddie. White boy don't know nothing about that black skin, about black beauty so don't let him carve out a place in your heart where your self-esteem should be, package it up and carry it away with all the other black bodies he's "fixed". White man don't understand mirrors. Like black boy run fast, black boy run quick I mean white man run quick, black boy running for the fun of it. White man shoot black boy, black boy run faster, black boy run quick. White man shoot black boy, shoot black boy, shoot black boy, shoot black boy, black boy try to run faster, black boy try to run quick. Please black boy, if you do nothing else just run. He's always been that devil on your shoulder, like aye Lydia! Let me rip off your flesh, disconnect your bones, make you another skeleton in my closet. He doesn't mean it, but i do. Fooled into believing this black body never belonged to me I long to belong anywhere. Even in the darkest room in this White House, I'll sacrifice my black body, if I have to.

This black woman's identity like I don't need much, I only need to take all of you.

I've never understood the mind.

Like if Lydia says something is Liddie supposed to answer to it?

Or like the teacher calls roll and Liddie waits for her name to be called.

Lydia Jones? Lydia Jones?

Like Liddie sitting in the back of the classroom Lydia is just a black body. So if I wash off all of my dirt, all of my impurities, will my white body surface? Black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, right?

Like can't my white skin know rebirth too, but instead i sit in the back of the classroom, hands clasped together, "Lydia Jones"?, " Lydia Jones?"

His white body appears on my shoulder. Don't go fighting a fight you know you'll never win he said. Like military combatants and against all I know to be right,

I raise my hand hesitantly. I know black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, so why do I still feel like I'm sinking?

It's not that I don't love myself, but I just can't accept being forced to fit into a box labeled, "this is who you are" when I've made a box for myself labeled "this is who I am".

We don't correlate. My name is Lydia named after my great grandmother but my family and friends call me Liddie.

I prefer Liddie.

I find myself too often asking:

If black bodies can run, if black bodies can survive, if black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, and I realize I can't run fast enough, I can't survive in this box white America, black America has predisposition my black skin to stick to, and all I've ever known is I'll drown if I get too closely acquainted with water, is Lydia worth fighting for? I've obviously been pegged to be more like Russian doll than woman, unraveling a larger piece of myself every time I hear her name! "LYDIA", I'm finding myself constantly nitpicking at the petals on this rose until I am thorned by Lydia's identity.

I have too many cuts on my body to count. Shattered glass amends the holes I didn't even know I had. Mirrors have always been my friend. But when your friend keeps cursing you, you have every right to defend yourself! They keep lying to me. I can't trust mirrors anymore, they keep screaming at me this black body is beautiful, but all I hear is you dirty black bitch! Nobody will ever love you because you can't even seem to understand the difference between seeking the worth in someone else and seeking the true meaning of self-worth for yourself. Nobody else can love but you. Lydia fights me all the time. Lydia and Liddie are two different identities fighting like The Conquest of Africa, Great Britain is colonizing my continent before my eyes, ripping my culture from me like Eygpt doesn't belong to you anymore Liddie. White boy don't know nothing about that black skin, about black beauty so don't let him carve out a place in your heart where your self-esteem should be, package it up and carry it away with all the other black bodies he's "fixed". White man don't understand mirrors. Like black boy run fast, black boy run quick I mean white man run quick, black boy running for the fun of it. White man shoot black boy, black boy run faster, black boy run quick. White man shoot black boy, shoot black boy, shoot black boy, shoot black boy, black boy try to run faster, black boy try to run quick. Please black boy, if you do nothing else just run. He's always been that devil on your shoulder, like aye Lydia! Let me rip off your flesh, disconnect your bones, make you another skeleton in my closet. He doesn't mean it, but i do. Fooled into believing this black body never belonged to me I long to belong anywhere. Even in the darkest room in this White House, I'll sacrifice my black body, if I have to.

This black woman's identity like I don't need much, I only need to take all of you.

I've never understood the mind.

Like if Lydia says something is Liddie supposed to answer to it?

Or like the teacher calls roll and Liddie waits for her name to be called.

Lydia Jones? Lydia Jones?

Like Liddie sitting in the back of the classroom Lydia is just a black body. So if I wash off all of my dirt, all of my impurities, will my white body surface? Black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, right?

Like can't my white skin know rebirth too, but instead i sit in the back of the classroom, hands clasped together, "Lydia Jones"?, " Lydia Jones?"

His white body appears on my shoulder. Don't go fighting a fight you know you'll never win he said. Like military combatants and against all I know to be right,

I raise my hand hesitantly. I know black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, so why do I still feel like I'm sinking?

It's not that I don't love myself, but I just can't accept being forced to fit into a box labeled, "this is who you are" when I've made a box for myself labeled "this is who I am".

We don't correlate. My name is Lydia named after my great grandmother but my family and friends call me Liddie.

I prefer Liddie.

I find myself too often asking:

If black bodies can run, if black bodies can survive, if black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, and I realize I can't run fast enough, I can't survive in this box white America, black America has predisposition my black skin to stick to, and all I've ever known is I'll drown if I get too closely acquainted with water, is Lydia worth fighting for? I've obviously been pegged to be more like Russian doll than woman, unraveling a larger piece of myself every time I hear her name! "LYDIA", I'm finding myself constantly nitpicking at the petals on this rose until I am thorned by Lydia's identity.

I have too many cuts on my body to count. Shattered glass amends the holes I didn't even know I had. Mirrors have always been my friend. But when your friend keeps cursing you, you have every right to defend yourself! They keep lying to me. I can't trust mirrors anymore, they keep screaming at me this black body is beautiful, but all I hear is you dirty black bitch! Nobody will ever love you because you can't even seem to understand the difference between seeking the worth in someone else and seeking the true meaning of self-worth for yourself. Nobody else can love but you. Lydia fights me all the time. Lydia and Liddie are two different identities fighting like The Conquest of Africa, Great Britain is colonizing my continent before my eyes, ripping my culture from me like Eygpt doesn't belong to you anymore Liddie. White boy don't know nothing about that black skin, about black beauty so don't let him carve out a place in your heart where your self-esteem should be, package it up and carry it away with all the other black bodies he's "fixed". White man don't understand mirrors. Like black boy run fast, black boy run quick I mean white man run quick, black boy running for the fun of it. White man shoot black boy, black boy run faster, black boy run quick. White man shoot black boy, shoot black boy, shoot black boy, shoot black boy, black boy try to run faster, black boy try to run quick. Please black boy, if you do nothing else just run. He's always been that devil on your shoulder, like aye Lydia! Let me rip off your flesh, disconnect your bones, make you another skeleton in my closet. He doesn't mean it, but i do. Fooled into believing this black body never belonged to me I long to belong anywhere. Even in the darkest room in this White House, I'll sacrifice my black body, if I have to.

This black woman's identity like I don't need much, I only need to take all of you.

I've never understood the mind.

Like if Lydia says something is Liddie supposed to answer to it?

Or like the teacher calls roll and Liddie waits for her name to be called.

Lydia Jones? Lydia Jones?

Like Liddie sitting in the back of the classroom Lydia is just a black body. So if I wash off all of my dirt, all of my impurities, will my white body surface? Black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, right?

Like can't my white skin know rebirth too, but instead i sit in the back of the classroom, hands clasped together, "Lydia Jones"?, " Lydia Jones?"

His white body appears on my shoulder. Don't go fighting a fight you know you'll never win he said. Like military combatants and against all I know to be right,

I raise my hand hesitantly. I know black bodies have always known rebirth when it comes to water, so why do I still feel like I'm sinking?