Shades of Brown

When I was three, I drew a house,

I painted the roof, umber brown,

a shade that is pretty by all account.

When I was six, I was gifted a dress,

coloured chesnut brown,

it was lovely all around.

When I was nine , I heard a relative say,

"Her skin is coloured coffee,

as she grows would that stay? "

When I was twelve, strangers spoke of my skin,

"Oh she's got the colour of a monkey,

she's probably ashamed from within."

When I turned fifteen, I graduated school,

People said I'm smart but no looker,

as the colour of my skin ridicule.

When I turned eighteen, I'd begun to hate my skin,

For years I wondered,

why it was so dull and dim.

Then one day I just looked around,

only to see that tree trunks and the earth was so brown.

If such things shared my shade of skin,

How could I ever have hated being akin.

Now that I am twenty-one, I realise that my skin is like no other,

From the spruce of my write to my hair that is umber,

A beautiful reminder of my home, my mother.