Shitty Coffee

I miss the days of shitty coffee,
Served in Styrofoam cups with a lid that never stayed on.
Back when all I knew was the campus library had free cookies.
Reminiscent of the days when my favorite scent was crayons.

I thought I was the shit because my dad bought me Crayola.
The others had RoseArt, but my parents gave me a head start.
Classism began early—
Young brown girls were late,
Which led to a generation left behind
And oppressors fueled by hate.

I couldn’t use that crayon to color my skin a new shade.
I tried.

Steven Button told me he couldn't kiss me under the monkey bars
Because I was Black.
I cried.

In third grade, I said I hated fried chicken and cornbread
Because it was ghetto.
I lied.

I miss the days of romanticizing the past, old sport.
I miss the days when I praised white literature.

Now I drink iced Americanos with simple syrup.
I use a French press
Because my dad bought me the Crayolas
With the sharpener on the box.

I can no longer sip tea with the enemy.
I tried.

I saw a little Black girl proudly recite Maya Angelou.
I cried.

I told you I miss the days of shitty coffee.
I lied.