Vitamin D for My Black Skin.

The sun is missing again.

Days stretch long and colorless,

grey swallowing grey,

and my skin—my black skin—

is losing its fire, its glow,

fading into something duller,

something tired, something mullered.

*

I wake up, and the world is dim.

Not just outside—inside too.

My body runs on echoes,

on memories of warmth that don’t exist anymore.

My melanin is starving,

my bones brittle with longing,

my breath heavier,

dragging, dragging,

through a season that never ends.

*

They say, Take your supplements.

White tablets in orange bottles,

as if the sun could ever be bottled,

as if a pill could hold the feeling

of golden light sinking into my skin,

whispering: You were made for this.

The sun completes me.

*

Winter in the UK is a thief.

Stealing hours, stealing light,

stealing the version of me

that was made to rule the sun—

now locked away in endless night.

*

And I try to fight it—

lamps, warm showers,

layered scarves and long sleeves—

but nothing replaces the sun.

*

And I am so burned out.

Not just tired—depleted.

My cells are wilting,

my thoughts are sluggish,

my joy is trapped

behind some fogged-up window

that I can’t quite wipe clean.

*

I miss the sun. I miss me.

I miss the way I shine when kissed by light,

the way my skin sings in gold,

the way everything feels… alive.

Whispers of the earth calling me divine.

*

I take my supplements.

I drink more water.

I push through, I endure.

*

But nothing replaces the sun.

It lives in me even now,

desperate to rise and reflect on me.

*

Oh, when will you come out to play, dear sun?

Come and shine on me—some vitamin D.