I do not hate you, though you bring me close. 
Indeed, I pity you. You are so mean
And seem to relish being mean, to most.
The air around you is uncomfortable;
Malicious ambience is what you stir.
No, I’m not jealous of the things you have.
My envying you would be a birth defect,
And God created me a whole woman.

You are pathetic and so miserable
That no amount of riches could make you glad.
Nothing I do for you is good enough.
My darker skin just isn’t light enough.
I think your heart is darker than my skin.
Thanks for inspiring me to write like this. 
Perhaps it’ll drain the mental pus you own, 
And help you heal and make you  more humane.
Two-faced is what you are. You see one side
For fleeting minutes, seconds. Yet some swear
You’re nicest of the ladies they have met.
That’s cause they’re just as shallow and privileged.

Most of us see the other side of you.
To us, you are transparent; we see through
To the dark cunnings and conniving of your mind—
Like your constant striving, scheming, as you brew
Insolence that’s typical of your kind –
Your speaking on behalf of others, your sarcasm,
Your constant struggle to keep poor in a chasm.

I love myself, but do you love yourself?
Bah. Never mind. You don’t know what love is.

 –