January 20, 2016
The Colour They Condemned
The shimmering suns of my land coloured me bronze, the skin I wore with pride,
With the strength of a lion walking its kingdom.
I had borne in the silky, tawny texture, the identity of my people
The identity insolently snatched away by mothers and aunts who barely knew my name by rubbing pastes;
yellow, white and orange on my golden skin and bright pink on my cinnamon lips.
I wondered who decides what is pleasing to the eyes, as they stood smug, satisfied with the brown fading away from my skin
Shoving into my chubby fingers magazines that celebrated women with arching backs, blood red lips and most of all, white skin.
I carried on undeterred, with the grace of a fawn walking on majestic green lands
Until I stepped into foreign streets, inviting gazes that labeled me 'exotic' and hands that subconsciously refused to touch me.
That was when I realized why animals see more colours than us.
All we see is black and white.