When my sister told me
She wanted to marry a white person
So she could have beautiful mixed babies.
I was shook.
For a while I was angry with her.
What's wrong with being black?
Black is beautiful.
Black is-
Then I remembered
How I used to be just like her
Afraid of my own blackness
Hating the skin I was born in as if
The minute I was born
Dirt and grime latched onto me
Embedding itself into my skin.
I abhor the thought of ever procreating
With someone who looked like me
As if having black children was
Some kind of curse.
So I forgave her and instead
Hated myself.
For my sister is a canvas
Stained by my paintbrush of imperfections.
I wonder just how much of
My bad habits she has made hers
I hope one day she will forgive me for all
The wrong I have taught her.
One day I hope she sees her beauty
How beautiful her skin is
Illuminating the sun itself.
I hope she finds it in her heart to love
Her dark curly coils
For they are a crown of excellence
Resting upon great shoulders.
I hope she understands that
The world often fears great things,
Making them feel small and insignificant
So they do not discover themselves
And the greatness they possess.
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