I know of my beauty but

I can’t help but acknowledge my ugly

It’s like a disease, you know…

The way we were taught that beauty was anything other than what we are
That beauty couldn’t be color
That good meant light
That calling dark, beautiful is simply something people say to sound artistic
Or to fulfill their “empowerment” quota
I am nuance
I am the shaky balance between love and delicate (self hate)
When you see me it should be clear what the fight for self looks like

I am duality, in a world where what is dark has to be controlled and palatable

The darker you are, the more polite you should be

Loud uncontrolled laughter from fair skinned women is called expressive

The Nubian girl is called ghetto for doing the same

But the Nubian girl managed to free herself

She is both loud and composed

And her dark brick exterior houses her sensual lace with ease

She isn’t just surviving, she’s alive

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