Brown Girl You Are A Queen by Manuela Delgadillo

Lost Love by Brandon L. Thompson

I shower for hours, scrub as hard as I can.

All I can see are layers of dirt. Not skin, dirt.

Scrub until the reflection staring back in the mirror

glows red, inflamed with tiny broken capillaries. Brush my

hair out religiously, just to see the ringlets I abhor,

slowly wind themselves up, intertwining at the roots

and I hear my mother’s words echo through me:

“Why do you

try to remove

the golden from

your skin? Melanin

drips from your thighs,

your arms, your hands,

because you are a

goddess of the Earth.

Why do you fear the sun?

Hide in the shade, beneath

your clothes? Don’t you

realize? The sun kisses your

skin, it doesn’t burn it. Your

hair holds all the secrets

your ancestors kept

from the world before

you. Let the curves of your

hair whisper the secrets

to your ears. Natural beauty

should walk tall, head held high,

bask in the sun.”

At times, it’s still hard to remember.