I used to hate my eyes becuase I thought they had no color;

The emotionless black marbles that sleep inside of my skull

were always a blight in my head,

no matter what my mother said;

No matter how much the light from my window reflected off of them.

 

I used to despise my skin because of how light my father's side of my family's was.

How in their eyes, white was more beautiful,

more elegant

more loved.

And I grew up believing these words that came out of my own family's mouths 

when I would visit for holiday dinners.

I was too blind to see that my skin is made of gold,

and the rich soil that grew my favorite flowers.

 

I used to ignore how I felt in love with all genders.

How my celebrity crushes were always female, and 

how at the same time,

I always wanted to hold 

that boy in my english class's hand.

I thought that my body was always confused, and I was

mistaking attraction for beauty, and nothing else.

Just beauty.

 

I used to resent how curly and thick my hair was

used to kill it by using

relaxers and products that were unhealthy, because

as a kid I just wanted it to be

straight and 'beautiful' 

like every girl at school's growing up. 

I hated the thought of anything other than silky and controlled.

But all I got was permanantly fried hair,

crisp, dry, leaves attached to my scalp

Im still trying to revive all of my curls,

to this day.

 

But years after thinking that my mind and body were

broken,

I seemed to grow into my childhood insecurities.

and my body is now a temple,

a home

that houses these toxic thoughts from years ago,

and transforms them into something much brighter, and 

safer than I ever thought I would feel.