Project Princess

Teeny feet rock
layered double socks
Popping side piping of
many colored loose lace ups

Racing toe keeps up with fancy free gear
slick slide and just pressed recently weaved hair

Jeans oversized belie her hips, back, thighs
that have made guys sigh
for milleni year

Topped by an attractive jacket
her suit’s not for flacking, flunkies, junkies
or punk homies on the stroll.

Her hands mobile thrones of today’s urban goddess
Clinking rings link dragon fingers
no need to be modest.

One or two gap teeth coolin’
sport gold initials
Doubt you get to her name
just check from the side
please chill.

Multidimensional shrimp earrings
frame her cinnamon face
Crimson with a compliment if a
comment hits the right place

Don’t step to the plate
with datelines from ‘88
Spare your simple, fragile feelings
with the same sense that you came

Color woman variation reworks the french twist
with crinkle cut platinum frosted bangs
from a spray can’s mist

Never dissed, she insists:
“No you can’t touch this.”
And, if pissed, bedecked fists
stop boys who must persist.

She’s the one. Give her some. Under fire. Smoking
gun. Of which songs
are sung, raps are spun, bells are rung, rocked, pistols
cocked, unwanted
advances blocked, well stacked she’s jock. It’s all
about you girl. You go
on. Don’t you dare stop.

Author: Tracie Morris