self love


I am a black kid,born with black skin. I was often told to use this cream and that face pack. I was teased and made fun of. I begin to hate the colour black and tried all in my power to become fair and lovely. Later that I realised,fair is not always lovely and that black is beautiful.
This realisation soon crept my existence and before I knew I painted myself black,top to toe,black. I seek solace in the black shadow of   towering neem rooted in my backyard. The black dress I donned last evening gave me a sense of power. The other day when he almost bumped into me wearing a black shirt,my gooseflesh shrieked that black is lovable.
My blacks have given me peace,power and love.Black taught me to upshoot my  insecurities.My romantic affair with black is now celebrated. I am no longer told to mask my skin, for now they know I love to kiss my bare black skin and I loved to be kissed.
Now I am a black adult,living with black skin,happy black skin. A skin with high melanin,a skin that is healthier than fair beings. And despite I pair black with white way too often,my obsession with white is dead.Black is my colour. Black is my happy colour.


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