I am not mad

I am not mad at men,
I am mad at the boy who has a gorgeous
girlfriend but still stays in my messages
asking me to sleep with him
and not talk about it

I am not mad at men,
I am mad at the lad
who said he wants to sleep
with me, all the time,
but he does not want
me to catch feelings-
as if I was something
less than a human being

I am not mad at me,
I am mad that growing up
my mother used to tell me-
that I would be very pretty
if my nose was finer
that it ruined me.
mad that she objectified my father
slept with a black man,
but didn't want a child
with his features.

I am not mad at my white friends,
I am mad that all the
narratives in the movies
are never about women that
look like me, unless they are
naked or evil.

I am not mad at the world,
I am just mad that power dynamics
exist.that women like me were
erased from history. that colonizers
took everything from my ancestors-
and left us with nothing but our bodies
as resources.

I am not mad
that my hair is considered wild and bold,
I am mad that people everywhere
think they have the right to touch it.
touch me. without consent.
because every time they
see something beautiful,
they can't leave it alone.
mad that men treat it like
a fetish. fantasize about pulling it
but don't want the woman
it is attached to.

I am not mad,
I am not mad at all,
my body is actually
boiling with rage.