Brown Skin

On my twenties, the age of expiring teen,

I realised the what, it meant to be brown.

My skin is not white, nor black but a mix of the two,

A so-called brown.

On my twenties, I fell for love with books,

Stories, poems, songs, riddles, dreams

Here world is different from what is loved,

But these things weren't of people that looked like me.

On my twenties, my mind couldn't fathom the world out there,

Being sad for fading the white skin by sun,

Taking the chemicals that lightens the black skin,

Perhaps, my skin is also desirable, but I am not.

In my twenties, I learned that my brown skin was a part of my outlook,

But the outlook needs a self-defined identity called good deed,

That would influence other little brown girls

And teach them that they can do it too.