The other day,
I told my mother I wanted dark
skin babies with my colored eyes.
She looked at me in surprise.
Then she called me something along the lines of "you sound like an imbecile."
Like being dark skin is an insult.
Yellow
Bright light skin
That shimmers in the sun is a gift from God.
So why would I want a dirty
dark
burnt
baby in my arms.
A baby that can't be seen in the dark.
And when I go to the park
There will be no ooo's or ahhh's
Because dark skin is not the proper protocol
I must be delusional for thinking all black is beautiful
But I just can't help but to appreciate your velvety ebony skin
How it glistens and radiates from sun rays
And the way the moonlight casts down on you
Creating an alluring silhouette
The perfect still frame...
If I was ever quick enough to snap a picture.
The perfect art for a book cover.
A book that I would read to my children as a bed time story.
Hoping they have sweet dreams of dark kings and queens.
Sitting on thrones
With precise words etched in stone
Words that build their fortification
Waking up they will own their complexion proudly.
Wear their skin like a favorite outfit
Wear it like gucci or prada
Because they will know they're expensive
And not to shield themselves for others expenses
So when I bare children,
I will hold my chocolate baby in my arms.
Their pure souls will shine through black obstacle courses ,so you will see them in the dark.
I will take them to the park.
People will ooo and ahhh
At the brightness of their eyes where a star shines through their irises.
There is no code for skin color.
There is only
beauty.
