I burn my skin
every now and then
just to fit into
your definition of beauty.
my melanin cry when
i rub them against
lemon juice mixed
with baking soda ;
my epidermis screams
every time i
try waxing them;
dark circles of eyes
cucumbers are mashed;
to make my skin
and luminous i scratch,
scratch and scratch and
rub it until it bleeds.
your promiscuous norms of beauty
made my mumma unbelieve my
sagacity, my zeal ; when the 'pados wali aunty' said "dowry will be heavy on you for your
daughter is dark and skinny too." and thus begins the search
for a cheaper groom, a groom who'll
decide how much dowry will he ask
seeing the colour of my skin.
the terms of beauty you set
snatched my childhood,
tore my books of fairytale
and pushed me barefooted
on the fiery carpet of reality
with zero maturity;
like a lost child in a crowded fair
i craved for a polestar to
steer the ship of life.
and now standing on the horizon
i defy your standards of beauty.
i mitigate my inflammation with
wisdom and wit; soothe my scars
with verses i indite , adorn my
blemishes with kindness and
compassion of soul.
i refuse to be a porcelain pot
or a fruit salad; i'll eat my potatoes and
cucumbers and embrace my dusk and dirt.
i plead for a vision where no white
is lovelier to a brown or a black, because
i am not only my skin but
a human within....___@nahidsaif73