The other day my daughter told her teacher the thing she loves is her skin color.
Her walnut espresso skin is so loveable…
but I don't think she contemplated the complexities of her statement.
It just flew from her lips like it was stuck there with pink glittery lip gloss.
My chestnut almond skin has always been worn like a badge.
Even my mom celebrated it.
Naming me Ebony for my coco truffle skin was her finest hour.
Why so serious!?
Most of my sepia melanated sistas like me
paint golden deep picture-perfect pictations of how strong women are.
Not wanting them to see the black and white marble stone that's cracked.
We all apply a little agate blush here…
A little quartz lipstick there…
Knowing black don't crack but it can crinkle
Seriously, why so serious!?
Why do we ridicule the ridiculous like they aren't facing the same ratchet societal views?
We seriously hide the pale multicolored stone.
Being woken up day by day menstruating manipulation,
Then being slapped with what we are supposed to be.
Even after all this, we are kicked in the back for being just that…stone.
We can't continue to contour our golden chestnut messed-up existences
while we highlight how strong we are.
We plaster soot eye shadow over the bright colors of our day-to-day struggle.
We can't smudge our mink and bittersweet foundation with tears of truth, while our mahogany roots go uncelebrated.
With living day by day a daily reminder from my beautiful walnut espresso daughter, all shades are beautiful, and loving the skin you're in is a blessing and never a curse.
Don't hide your pretty embrace it.
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