I know you see it.
It's as Black as the midnight sky, it's Brown like the Earth you step on.
The crescent in my grin, the softness of my skin.
Bronze, dark, and gleaming.

I know you've read it.
Read my kinks and knots like a history book.
Lips thick as plums, knees rough, back strong.
My history be read with a simple glance.

I know you smell it.
The blood, sweat, and tears of my past,
That still lingers on me like an old scent.
The cocoa butter kisses planted on my melanin,
Sweet, subtle, natural.

I know you feel it.
Rather it's my comfort or discomfort,
inside my indifference, contrasted from everyone else.
It feels good for you to camouflage within the blend.
I'm standing like a one spotted Zebra with no stripes.
Lone star, smear on the wall, diamond in the rough.

Don't hear it.
Because we speak different languages,
And you will misinterpret it's cries.
You will mistake my desire for self-pitty,
Your stereotypical ways will only hear watermelon lover and late comer.
"I'M PROUD!" turns to "I'M LOUD!"
And no longer will my skin be listened to.
So don't hear my skin.
Feel it, see it, acknowledge it.
Wonder it, explore it, don't judge it.

My skin has so much to say, but you aren't ready to hear it.
So as of today, simply acknowledge it.