the dermatologist tells me i'm not defined by my skin.

in my head, i laugh a little.

i am not defined by my skin, this woman tells me, as i'm crying crocodile tears,

she's taking a biopsy of the skin i burned in an anemic frenzy to get warm,

i am not defined by my skin, she tells me, knowing full well we live in this world
     where classification is key,

and being a black girl is the very worst thing to be,

i am not defined by my skin, she tells me, when i'm strapped with tinea versicolor, which
     turns me into a multicolored puzzle piece for people to force into boxes as they see fit,

i am not defined by my skin, she tells me, in this world where when i walk past a white person
     i have the urge to speak properly so they will not think of me as less than the majority,

i am not defined by my skin, she tells me, but i am a girl and everyone knows girls are judged
     seventy to thirty with their looks versus their personality and if i am black and girl then
      being pretty is the only thing i could have going for me but my skin is ugly and i am ugly,

i am not defined by my skin, is what the dermatologist told me. and it's true for her. she is
     white and i am black sierra. female. sad. seventeen.

i am defined by my skin.

i am defined by my skin.

i am defined by my skin.

and you should never try to take that away from me.