I blame Disney,

the Grimm Brothers,

that Anderson guy,

and Mother Goose, too:

any and all of them fairy tales that taught me that

if I ain’t happy with me, all I need is

you.

I hate that every little girl wants to be a princess.

I mean, before she gets fed up wit hangin out in some tower

waitin on Prince Charming,

what the hell does a princess do?

And why ain’t none of them Princesses black?

Don’t sistas need savin too?

But only them skinny lil white girls get a real prince;

the bitches with a little color?

 Jas got a streetrat,

 Pocohontas’s ass got left,

that gypsy girl could only land a hunchback,

and Mulan’s whole damn country dissed her

…It’s a goddamn shame.

Sometimes I feel like this world’s been telling me

I’m gon get got from Day One.

And that                that jus plain ain’t right.

See, my whole life people been tellin me,

“ You gon be somebody”.

And you know what?         I think they right.

If I made it here,

I’m pretty damn sure I can make it anywhere.

I might even be able to make it up that ladder

But will I be that strong,

power-suit wearin,

high heel rockin

Black woman can’t no man love?

Am I gon spend my whole life workin,

just to work some more?

I can’t see myself spendin the rest of my life with people tryna suck the color right outta me.

Cuz us soulful sistas, ya know,

them dragons try to get us, too.

Am I gonna hafta fight them myself,

or will you?

What I’m tryna say is, will a man love me if I go for my dreams,

or is “love” as much of a joke as it seems?

See, I think back to them stories and what I see on TV,

and all them girls that get love,

that find the one they walked with “once upon a dream”,

they’re everything I’ll never be.

And the concept of “rift-raff…streetrat”?

Well, I actually WON’T buy that.

Is there ever gon be a prince for the successful sista?

Or am I always gon stand proud,

stand tall,

stand     here in my kitchen by myself?

Would it really be so bad if I did?

Heh, I think it’d give my Mama a heart attack.

So I blame Mother Goose

for sending Jill tumblin down after.

Hans, cuz he said I hadta call myself Ugly

 to be a swan, and I hafta be tiny

 to get my man.

Brothers Grimm, my skin’s not white as snow,

and it’s rainin outside—I can’t let down my hair.

But I heard some good news the other day:

seems like Disney’s fittin to give sistas a chance.

This new chick, they got her goin through all kinds of hell,

but comin out alright in the end

(Remember, Brandy got to be Cinderella too)

So maybe this part right here is where that tired old frog story gets

 twist-turnt upside down.

Maybe…if they get it right.

                And if they don’t?

Then I’ma just keep doin me, tryna make it right myself

Maybe Mama’s right and I should go head an call this boy

...someday one of them’s gon open they eyes and love me.