I heard it only takes seven seconds
For you to pin me onto your map of first impressions
With my fingerling potato freckles planted by white hands,
Hair like a midnight jungle that black feet traversed,
Silk skin that is the softness of woman,
Mouth that can swing its sword with the brute force of a him,
Body of a chipped porcelain doll with secrets tucked in its cracks,
Smile that fails to lift my lips but can be found in my windows,
Shoes wearing the dirt of streets you have only ever driven down
What are the borders and the landmarks
Of the place you will stick me
And convince yourself I am from?