Don't cry. Don't scream. Don't get angry.
You’re wrinkling your shirt.
Have a nice day; don't miss the bus.
Have lunch, with salmon and rice and strength.
No yelling. No calling. Spend the night alone.
Don't talk too much. Give all you got; get nothing back
and forth through seasons and holidays.
I get it now.
Don't smirk. Don't breathe. Don't be sad, or happy.
Just exist. Don't tell anyone. Hold it in. Wait.
Don't be you. Fall in between statistical hysteria.
Eat until overstuffed. Watch TV. Go to bed. Raise children.
Don't feel or know anything. Get dressed.
Don't wrinkle your shirt.
Give them a kiss; accept their betrayal and lies,
‘cuz life lies in between realities.
Comb your hair. Wash the dishes. Buy groceries. Hate vegetables
and bastards from hotels. Don't cry. Don't scream. Love your mother
and father. Miss your sister. Feed your children, kiss their cheeks
and remind them of God and Africa.
Wear red lipstick.
Don't cry. Don't scream and remember;
Don’t wrinkle your shirt.
"Don't Wrinkle Your Shirt" is part of a larger piece titled: "Little Girls, What Has Ruined You"