I used to stare at my mother in complete wonder of her golden skin. You know the skin I’m talking about. The skin rappers rap about. That high yellow skin. That perfectly designed skin. So I thought….
I used to avoid the sun during the summer time in fear of becoming too black. Oh how I hated the sun. The sun that turned my skin from milk chocolate to dark chocolate, from brown to black, from walnut to mahogany.
I used to envy my best friend. She had that perfect skin like my mom. That perfect
“house nigga” skin and perfect 3A hair with that perfect percentage of whiteness. That whiteness that lightened her skin and loosened her curls. Oh how I envied her skin.
Then one day… I don’t quite remember the day, but I stared at myself and admired my skin. My beautiful brown melanated skin that dripped like melting chocolate from the sun’s gaze. My “darker the berry the sweeter the juice” skin. That naturally highlighted brown skin that didn’t need a drop of makeup because it dripped with perfection. Now, I dance in the sun, knowing and loving the magical transformation that occurs. Hoping and praying to be soaked by its rays, bathing in its power.
Brown Skin. Rich Skin. Magical Skin. My damn skin.