There was a time I hated the color of my skin. The brown shade that somehow, though different, was not good enough. How I hated the shape and slope of my nose. The curving thickness of my lips and the dark, kinky coils that rested on my head. Yes, there was a time I hated all these things. How I used to stare at my naked body in the mirror, wishing for narrow hips and a smaller waist. How I used to glare at the bodies I would see in magazines and the flawless faces that grazed the television. It was all so worth it back then; the hunger pains, the aching throat. The sunken cheeks and fading skin. Yes, it really was. But then – I woke up.
Time has taught me that there is no wrong in being different. There is no wrong in being black. The hatred that others have for the shade of my skin was never and will never be my fault. I am not a perfect being. I am heavily flawed like a flower in mud with wilting petals but even then – I am beautiful. I am beautiful no matter what color my skin is. No matter how dark or light it may be. No matter how wide or how narrow my nose is. No matter how you view me. My skin is a story. A history so rich it aches to be told. I am worth it. So capable and so worth it. I’ve made it through the darkness of time and hate. I’ve made it through the tragedies that come with life. I’ve made it and that is worth a celebration. I see my skin now and I bask in it, waiting for the sun to it and illuminate it’s deep, golden glow. I bask in the ambience of being different because I know it will take love to understand me. To understand us. We are worth it. We deserve love. We deserve it all. Don’t ever let another person tell you that you aren’t enough and never, ever let the hatred and ignorance of another fuel hatred for yourself. Stay black. Stay bold. Stay beautiful.