A Black Girls Truth

Writing words on a page lost in the language because it's the only thing that truly sets me free. Words that scream back at me though my mouth has been sewn together like a sweater that some may call ugly. Ugly. Such a small word yet it rages through me attacking the heart that I call beautiful. My pen strikes my pad with such purpose I forget who I was and I write who I am and who I could be. The ink that scribbles vervaciously spills my thoughts around for the world to see. I write the words I was scared of saying. Black is beautiful.

Black. The color that most identify as unworthy, dark, and dangerous. This became evident to me when I looked in the mirror and thought that because I am a black woman, a man shall not enter my life. That because my lips had a dark tint and where full, I somehow was not good enough. That because my tight curls where not straight and smooth I somehow meant less.

That somehow because my skin was brown and not fair, I couldn't be wanted. I was taught...I was ugly. I was taught...black was ugly. But is it? When I look at my grandma smile when I tell her how my day at school went, is she ugly? When I watch my Mom and dad dressed up for a date are they ugly? No... NO they're not. And I wish I had seen it sooner, because now I let society's words in. I let them bruise my beautiful heart.

BlACK IS BEAUTIFUL. I had to learn that my hair is beautiful. My skin is beautiful. And most importantly I had to learn I am beautiful.