Black or white, Fair or lovely-
This is what I’m not.
Wheatish, dusky, sulky-bulky,
This is what I’m called.
I’m those shades between
Your creamy iced latté and hot dark expresso.
I’m a blend of that, that goes into making-
White sweet milk and black bitter coffee.
I’m not the white sugar
That I’d lose myself and dissolve.
But I’m that chocolate-
the flavour of the cocoa beans, that lingers on.
I’m not bashful, just brown.
I’m not the dreams you sell,
catering to my insecurities.
I’m not the shameful lotions and creams
that line my bathroom shelf.
I’m the excess melanin
that I produce,
I’m the courage it takes
to be a mix of two.
I’m the brave brown.
I’m not you telling me,
I’ll never have a lover.
I’m the caramel gazing at the mirror,
The witty walnut who isn’t seeking approval.
I’m more than just a random
interplay of 378 genes.
I’m what lies underneath my layers,
I’m my voice, my knowledge, my culture.
But, I’ll always be me-