The Skin I’m In

The skin I’m in can make it hard to breathe as “they” step on your throat blocking your freedom of speech.

The skin I’m in can make it hard to move as “they” step in the way of progress blocking your blessings from coming through.

The skin I’m in can feel weighed down by the hate as “they” continue to perpetuate stereotypes making it hard for others to relate.

Many people who don’t share my skin are blinded by their truth and refuse to try and look in.

My skin holds more than what’s portrayed on TV, my skin is beautiful with scars that cut deep.

To the fool who cannot see, my skin will show them a caricature of me: loud, angry, black girl with the ghetto name and the nappy hair

Listing these “traits” as an excuse to desensitize themselves and not to care

Instead of seeing the warmth they see my chocolate as hard

They see a “cold,” “intimidating” woman and project their fears onto my skin, that’s when I feel the weight of the skin that I am in.

The skin that I’m in can be hard to define, while residing in a country designed with white skin in mind

The skin that I’m in can make it hard to believe in hope for the future or a life that is free.

It’s hard living in my skin where negative connotations have been placed, they make black to be “evil”, but I love it all the same, because there’s beauty and power in the simplicity of the name

To be Black is to be love, even when people don’t love your Black.

I’ll always love being Black, I could never want to take it back.

Though the skin I’m in can be hard, I’ll love it even harder.

They can try and bring us down, but until they kill me, I’m coming back always stronger.

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