Years together,
I would resent my skin;
Wearing it like–
An armor of shame.
Because I was told,
this skin I carry wasn’t beautiful.
Because being fair was lovely,
but being dark was a disgrace.
From advertisements to movies,
how we have this
instilled sense of beauty,
to maintain, to be perfect.
To be something you aren’t.
From a tender age,
I thought I wasn’t living
up to the standards of society–
because of my dark skin.
slamming my face into products.
To fit in, to look pretty.
because if I didn’t,
I wouldn’t find someone–
as I wasn’t ‘lovely’ enough.
I was taught ‘to get a guy,’
just because I was brown, dark.
because all the boys
drool over the ‘fair’ ladies.
I was told to wear dark clothes
as it matches my skin tone,
as yellow on my skin
wasn’t authentic enough.
With years passing by,
I have realized that
beauty in this world
was measured up by
how fair you are,
how skinny you are,
how flawless you could be,
but never embrace who you are…
what if, we were taught to
to love ourselves as we are,
so we wouldn’t grow up
amidst the resentment
with our bodies
but only love?
Now the armor of shame,
the same skin I wear is my
armour of pride.
I rise.