My skin is metal bronze.
it is made from ashes and fire and the breath of the Earth.
it Iron forged
rigid and sweet
People say it is the color of Filth.
They call me “colored”,
as if to say I am discolored.
But I am the face of my ancestors,
I carry their nose
their tranquil eyes
their stern resolve
I am my mother’s child.
She is the color of a Winter’s Blizzard,
her cheeks are made of Rose and her hair of Gold.
But I am Earth.
I am its child.
It was the mud of the Earth that shaped me,
in the beginning
I am the product of the world’s forge.
And I am not discolored.
I am caramel and chocolate and coffee and raw sugar.
your skin may have been touched by the flowers and the faeries
But mine has been dipped in honey and hardened by the sun
you are slender birch tree and I am a Mighty Oak.
We are not alike, but we are both beautiful.
You are the snow that covers the earth,
And I am the the first coming of spring.
And we are not discolored.
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