Brown Skin

When I look in the mirror, I see brown:

The colour of skin we are told is not beautiful,

The “exotic” face that is a commodity

To large hands that appear clean but are filthy

With thoughts that label us women as inferior,

That dehumanize us and turn us into objects

To be held, admired, and then disposed of.

When I look in the mirror, I see brown:

The colour of sweat and tears,

The stain of dark, tiring years

Tainted by segregation, oppression, and racism

That I carry on tired shoulders

Like a backpack filled with rocks

That I am told to unpack but can’t

Because this burden is an heirloom

That has been passed down through generations.

How can I let go when the history of this burden

Shows strength, resilience, and perseverance?

I will not unpack the backpack of my ancestors

Which gives my weak shoulders character.

I will continue carrying it

And with time and pressure,

The rocks will turn into diamonds

That my great grandchildren will proudly wear.

So when I look in the mirror, I see brown:

The colour of soil that nourishes the natural world,

In which seeds are planted

And strong women like us

Continue to grow.