there was a time I hated the color of my skin
not for of its depth
but perceived blemishes

chaotic speckles from unwelcome growths
incidental strokes from unfiltered illumination

it wasn’t until She whispered to me,
“You are the reflection of the universe
and beyond man-made theories of perfection”
that I pondered the essence of beauty

I am the vacuum of space bejeweled by the escaped luminescence of stars
The warm sensation on fingers perusing secretly fertile soil 

I love the color of my skin

Posted in Poetry
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