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My Skin, My Color

Embracing the Beauty within Melanin

By Nazy AnnPublished 4 months ago 3 min read

My Skin, My Color

In the depths of my being, my journey begins. My skin, my color – a reflection of my heritage, a canvas that bears the brushstrokes of centuries past. As I navigate this world, I carry with me the weight of history and the power of resilience ingrained in every fiber of my being.

Growing up, I became acutely aware of my melanin-kissed complexion. In a world that often measured worth by the shade of skin, I found myself straddling two worlds – the one that celebrated diversity and the one that perpetuated biases.

In my heart, I carried the warmth of my mother's embrace, her stories echoing through time, weaving tales of strength and struggle. She had faced the dark clouds of discrimination, yet her spirit remained unyielding, like a flame that flickers but refuses to be extinguished.

As I stepped into the realm of adolescence, the weight of society's expectations descended upon my shoulders. My friends, my mentors – all insisted that I conform to their standards of beauty. In their glossy magazines, I searched for a reflection of myself, but it was a futile quest. I was a mere afterthought, an invisible existence that they pretended to acknowledge.

But as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, I realized that beauty could not be confined by societal standards. Beauty, I discovered, was in the fiery gleam of my eyes when I spoke passionately about my dreams. Beauty was in the rhythm of my laughter, unapologetic and unrestrained. Beauty was in the curve of my lips, each smile a testament to my resilience.

As I ventured out into the world, I encountered the sharp claws of racism, tearing at the fabric of my being. The stares, the taunts, the subtle dismissal – all aimed at my skin, my color. Yet, in the face of adversity, I refused to be defined by the perceptions of others.

My skin, my color – it carried the echoes of generations that had fought for their place in this world. It carried the stories of my ancestors who had danced under moonlit skies, their spirits unchained by the shackles of oppression. In every step I took, I honored their legacy, and my stride became a testament to their strength.

Despite the challenges, I found solace in the embrace of a community that understood the significance of my journey. We gathered, united by our shared experiences, and as we raised our voices, the harmony of our truths reverberated through the cosmos. Together, we stood, a tapestry of diverse colors, interwoven by the threads of our stories.

In the warmth of these connections, I shed the burden of conformity and embraced the essence of my identity. I let my hair dance freely, my curls a testament to the wild spirit within. I adorned myself with garments that celebrated the vibrancy of my culture, my roots, and my essence.

As I basked in the glory of self-discovery, I realized that my skin, my color, was not a burden to bear; it was a privilege to cherish. My journey was a tapestry, woven with the threads of adversity and triumph, a canvas painted with the hues of resilience and hope.

In the depths of my being, my journey continues. My skin, my color – an ode to the past, a celebration of the present, and an inspiration for the future. And as I walk this path, I know that my story, my truth, will resonate with others who carry the weight of history on their shoulders.

My skin, my color – it is a testament to my strength, my resilience, my identity. And in its embrace, I find the freedom to be unapologetically, beautifully, and uniquely me.


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