Dark Skin

Society tries to tell us many things. One of the main things it tries to convince us of is that dark skin shouldn't be associated with beauty. Maybe she's born with it, Maybe it's melanin.

I'm truly sorry sir, if the the amount of melanin in my skin offends you.
I'm sure you're looking at me from across the way and contemplating what a horrible life I have been burdened with.
To think! black and female!
It is truly a curse, you must think.
You must pity me.

But to the gentleman spying me from across the way and the woman following me around the department store for fear one of her items may vanish, I understand why you must pity me.
The very skin you believe to be a curse has indeed been that and much more.
It has been a plague, a disease, a cancer, and a growth that doctors are incapable of operating on.
It has been my downfall, my depression, my tears, and all of my pain.
It has been all of these things and for that you must truly pity me.

Am I really so pitiful? Are all women with this curse of pigmentation doomed to a life lacking beauty?
What's pitiful is that I should consider myself lucky. The women who came generations before me were not even thought of as humans, let alone beautiful.
Those women, those gorgeous women were only viewed as chattel and not something that is to be revered.
The skin I bear is a testament to that.
My dark skin was not only created out of an increased amount of melanin, it is formed by the hands of my ancestors holding me close in an effort to give me strength.
My ancestors pity me because we are still not beautiful.

The images of beauty were ingrained in my mind from an early age.
The images of kindness, intellect, and grace were never associated with dark skinned women.
The fairest of them all, the princess, was not chocolate. She was in fact white as snow.
A simple rule has always been that if you're lighter than a paper bag then you are beautiful.
If you are darker than a paper bag, then you are only to be pitied.

Dark girls can look back on themselves and see why people can only see them as damaged creatures.
The damage done was not easily reversed and our self worth suffered for it.
Self loathing is a common thing in society because society paints such a pristine picture of what a women is supposed to be.
Tall, skinny, fair skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. So many expectations that you begin hating yourself because you can never be like that vision of perceived beauty.
Painful memories for dark girls involve standing in a bathtub scrubbing ourselves raw because we believed that it was dirt causing our dark skin. We believed that if we only scrubbed hard enough, the pristine white skin will show through and we will for once be considered beautiful but we will also be pitiful.

We've tried to counteract this curse with pride.
False pride that we shouted from the rooftops as tears streamed down our faces.
"Say it loud! I'm black and I'm proud!" Could only go so far when this generation of dark girls began to turn on itself.
Girls who share your race begin to look down on you because their skin is closer to the shade of that brown paper bag.
People praise them for their perfect skin and good hair or shun them for it.
Then begins the battle of light skin versus dark skin with everyone scrambling to choose a side that's doomed anyway.
There is no way to win this battle.
If you are dark skinned then you are ugly. Nothing more than a tar baby that should be sent back to Africa.
If you are light skinned then you are too uppity. You are arrogant because you are too beautiful.
Both sides are bound to fail so both sides should be pitied.

In recent years, beauty has changed.
Everyone wants to be black except for black people.
The culture, the music, the body.
Everyone wants a piece of it except for us.

They all pity the dark girls for what we must go through.
We have a constant cloud of hatred looming over our heads with no protection from its vile downpour.
I so wished to wake up one morning and find that my skin had become a few shades lighter.
But I have come far enough from that time to know that I am beautiful.
The skin formed by my ancestors is not just skin.
It is my protection, my armor, and my couture.
The nappy hair that coils and kinks is not something to be inspected or criticized, it is my crown and I will wear it like the queen that I am!
they have tried to beat me down for so long and tell me that my beauty doesn't amount to anything but I know I am worth something and I have the audacity to go against your preconceived notions and believe that I matter.

So to the man across the way wondering how I will get by in my life do not pity me I am fueled by my confidence. I can feel the love from the women who came before me as they guide me to become something. They create my path with tears in their eyes because they know that the strength they put forth to make it through such heinous times meant something.
Also, to the women following me around the department store, do not perceive the melanin in my skin as a jail uniform. Above this skin lies the testament of other dark skinned women who get me through these times. The women who put these Jimmy Choo boots on my feet so I don't have to steal yours.
To everyone out there who believes they need to feel bad for me don't.
My dark skin is the dream of a woman being chained down centuries before me, the hopes of a woman sitting on the back of a bus, the battle scars received from the blows dealt by society, and it is nothing to be pitied.

Because I am beautiful.