Dark brown and even in complexion,
smooth and mysterious like a midnight's deception
ushering a new day in the midst of the night;
glimmering eyes and pearly whites shining so bright
even the stars' brilliance paled in comparison.
Catching attention in every direction
corners circled in awe and reverence.
Whispers and sighs
followed her every step
as she sashayed, comments came
rushing in like waves generated
by the pull of the moon:
An individual similar in skin tone stoically stated,
"She's pretty for a dark skinned girl."
"Look how pretty her hair is ...,"
another dark skinned brother began to say
before being rudely interrupted.
"Don't care, it ain't hers anyway.
No way she got that good hair.
Must be a weave, look at her family,
don't be deceived, you won't find any Indian
hanging anywhere in that tree!"
exclaimed a short pudgy fair skinned lady.
"She'd make a nice side piece though;
a second place trophy wife. How nice
it would be to put her on her knees
whenever I pleased, only if I had that in my life,"
sighed a brown skinned former playa
in his mid to late forties.
"Best believe, but I bet she probably walks the street;
got corns on her feet from working the track day and night
in those high ass stiletto heels ..."
" ... and her coochie probably stinks too
look how tight she's wearing those jeans!
She'd risk constantly getting yeast infections
to get some attention, what a damn shame,"
which were wry words wrought
from two bitter high yellow fellows
still smarting from a previous rejection.
Listening to the hate, she did her best
to keep looking straight.
She had an unusually thick skin
for insolence since both her parents taught her well
on how to use her brains before letting looks
dictate the direction she should take
in the course of her trying life.
But at this moment she felt she had no choice
other than to give in to her emotions ...
So she did an about face,
put her left hand on her waist
and went in by pointing at everyone
who had something harsh or critical to say.
Looking at them sideways and twisting her neck,
she let loose a diatribe that paused everyone
giving them a moment to remember and reflect:
"All of humanity shares the same ancestral roots
tracing back to the original mother, an African woman
known in scientific circles as Mitochondrial Eve.
A black woman who singularly embodied all the world's genes.
She spawned the human race from our earliest inception,
yet the offspring's that bare the closest resemblance
in both form and complexion
are the ones who have received the most rejection.
There's no greater pain that a mother can feel
than the pain stemming from helplessly watching
the wayward direction unabashedly taken by her lost children.
When will we awaken from the slumber of ignorance
and remember to embrace who we are without reservation?
Until that day I will keep being who I am with my head held high
as I hold onto the truth that I am the closest to the original state of perfection.”
smooth and mysterious like a midnight's deception
ushering a new day in the midst of the night;
glimmering eyes and pearly whites shining so bright
even the stars' brilliance paled in comparison.
Catching attention in every direction
corners circled in awe and reverence.
Whispers and sighs
followed her every step
as she sashayed, comments came
rushing in like waves generated
by the pull of the moon:
An individual similar in skin tone stoically stated,
"She's pretty for a dark skinned girl."
"Look how pretty her hair is ...,"
another dark skinned brother began to say
before being rudely interrupted.
"Don't care, it ain't hers anyway.
No way she got that good hair.
Must be a weave, look at her family,
don't be deceived, you won't find any Indian
hanging anywhere in that tree!"
exclaimed a short pudgy fair skinned lady.
"She'd make a nice side piece though;
a second place trophy wife. How nice
it would be to put her on her knees
whenever I pleased, only if I had that in my life,"
sighed a brown skinned former playa
in his mid to late forties.
"Best believe, but I bet she probably walks the street;
got corns on her feet from working the track day and night
in those high ass stiletto heels ..."
" ... and her coochie probably stinks too
look how tight she's wearing those jeans!
She'd risk constantly getting yeast infections
to get some attention, what a damn shame,"
which were wry words wrought
from two bitter high yellow fellows
still smarting from a previous rejection.
Listening to the hate, she did her best
to keep looking straight.
She had an unusually thick skin
for insolence since both her parents taught her well
on how to use her brains before letting looks
dictate the direction she should take
in the course of her trying life.
But at this moment she felt she had no choice
other than to give in to her emotions ...
So she did an about face,
put her left hand on her waist
and went in by pointing at everyone
who had something harsh or critical to say.
Looking at them sideways and twisting her neck,
she let loose a diatribe that paused everyone
giving them a moment to remember and reflect:
"All of humanity shares the same ancestral roots
tracing back to the original mother, an African woman
known in scientific circles as Mitochondrial Eve.
A black woman who singularly embodied all the world's genes.
She spawned the human race from our earliest inception,
yet the offspring's that bare the closest resemblance
in both form and complexion
are the ones who have received the most rejection.
There's no greater pain that a mother can feel
than the pain stemming from helplessly watching
the wayward direction unabashedly taken by her lost children.
When will we awaken from the slumber of ignorance
and remember to embrace who we are without reservation?
Until that day I will keep being who I am with my head held high
as I hold onto the truth that I am the closest to the original state of perfection.”
By BlackVision
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