My Hair, My Skin

I was born with brown skin. I am 6-feet-tall, and to some too thin. My hair bounces when I walk and can almost touch the sky. My muscle definition races from my shoulders to my thighs.

Some days, I say “damn girl” when I pass a window, because I know this is who I was meant to be. I know that God didn’t want me to throw in a weave, to wear makeup that lightened me, or feel like I couldn’t be free.

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” (Psalm 139:13-14)

When my daughter grows taller, when her hips widen and her chest pops, I will give her the talk. I will tell her “don’t change who you are, it won’t get you far. Recognize your beauty and then you’ll see truly,” which is just what my mother said to me.

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