I can hear your snickers and your laughs,
Evidently you make no effort to conceal them,
But has it ever occurred to you-
That what I am is not under my control?
That what color my skin reflects within the day is not my decision?
How I would have loved to had been blessed with a radiant tone such as yours,
To be clothed by pools of superior beauty
But alas, this was never my decision.
Similarly, the color that streaks from the top of my head to my back like a river is not my decision
What can I do if I am not as fortunate as you to have been born with such lovely locks?
The decision is out of my reach, although if my arm were only a little longer, it could be in my favor
And what if my face is not one I am proud of,
What if my face is but a mask molded by stereotype and generalization?
It is, after all, but a mask
Can I not remove it from my body and let it fall to the floor?
Will you allow me to do that?
To show you I am not a walking convention.
And I am not a girl in the corner you may look down upon,
But rather, I am your equal, who is simply suppressed by your condemnations.