Retrospect, Self discovery


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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The Phases of a Lover

Smooth winds whispered tones
Cool breeze happy souls

This is peace.

Rain, raindrops that congregate into a sign of an answered prayer
It’s in the whispered words uttered by a glance or a lengthened silence

That is love.

Disappointment, shattered expectations
Well meant emotion that turns into naivety in the eyes of a former lover

This is heartbreak

Resentment, happening slowly then all at once
In a state of denial whilst convincing yourself you’re over it
The memories of what was floods you with regret
And you realise you can’t swim.

That, a phase of disappointment.

Mindless wondering, soul searching.
Forgetting the shadows of old and stepping out a new creation
Self love, self appreciation

That, bliss.

Family dinners, friendly laughter
Not asking for too much
Knowing that you are enough
And then, right there in plain sight



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