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A poem written by a Year 9 Student

My hair is not your plaything,

It is my treasure,

Not your pleasure,

To mould and shape to your want,

My skin is not your muse,

It is not ‘exotic’ or ‘intimidating’,

You need to stop incriminating,

Young children like me,

My body is not an attraction,

For you to poke and admire,

As you only care about me now, what happens when I expire,

You need to stop seeing black kids as grown.

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June 2024

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