Woman.

Confidence.

I've never held confidence. I grew up thinking my brown skin was a crime, my tummy was a sin, and the poodle like hair God gave me was a curse. I grew up being told that I was pretty, but not skinny enough. Pretty, but a little too black for "my taste". Pretty, but my waist was a little too wide.

I always lacked in the self-esteem area, not only because my mother exposed me to things only a grown woman should know, because as a child I was that black girl. You know the black girl that only fit in with the white girls -barely- because the other black girls didn't like her. The black girl that hid in the back of the classroom and rarely raised her hand even when she knew all the answers. The black girl that was taught "if it's white, it must be right".
The black girl that spent 15 of her 16 years alive wishing her black skin would suddenly turn white. That her curves would suddenly suck in and her stomach would magically disappear. That black girl.

I'm learning to love myself, slowly but surely. I don't spend my time looking at skin bleaching creams, or size three clothing that I knew I couldn't fit into. I'm learning that my black skin is equal to the early casket made just for me. My body is to be worshipped, if not by others, by myself. I will always, as I'm learning, love the curves I was blessed with, the stretch marks that make my skin soft and luscious- like satin sheets in the fall of October. I'm learning to love myself even when no one else will,