BLACK BERRIES

          I hate the entire stigma against black skin. Everybody wants to be beige. No really, we all want to be sort of black and not black. I don’t get it. Do you know how many women have destroyed their skin in the search of lighter shades? Millions! Let’s start with M.J. No he isn’t a woman but he took the game to a whole new level I mean he defied Gods’ command, you know “Let there be black people”.

          The weirdest thing is that when darker women want to be a shade lighter, lighter women want to be a shade lighter. I don’t get it. Who are we striving to be, white? I used to hate dark skin, yeah and am black I know. It was serious when I was in primary, imagine that, so young! Looking back I wonder how I juggled my studies, play time, adolescence and skin issues. I remember looking in the mirror and trying to see if I got a bit lighter during the night, I can laugh about it now but back then it was no laughing matter. Most of the popular girls were light skinned and it seemed the way to go.

           Come to think about it, I hate the phrase am looking for a tall, dark and handsome man because no man ever says that am looking for a short, dark and pretty woman. No one! And it’s like it is okay for men to be dark but not for women, which is complete bull. Who has ever heard a man say he is looking for a black berry (not the phone) who? I haven’t yet heard one yet they find them. Whether or not we admit it someone/ most people will marry the dark-skinned girls and they will love them completely and that’s not my problem.

          My problem is, what we don’t say is just as harmful as what we do say. My problem is when every black movie is full of coloreds more than blacks, when ever magazine is full of almost black but not quite there. We should have a black magazine and when I say black I mean the very many shades of very black women.

          I have accepted my skin now and by accepting it I love it and wouldn’t want to change it. If you look in the mirror you will realize that there is no way you can improve what you can’t change. Women who have bleached themselves don’t look any better. Their skin looks and am sure feels dry. In the extreme it may even look sick. Unless you are willing to settle for second best it won’t be what you were looking for.

          I want a proper celebration of black skin of pure untainted black berries. This may sound like discrimination against coloreds but it isn’t. Someone should celebrate your skin as well but lets all be honest, the skin that hasn’t been properly accepted, praised and celebrated is the dark skin and I want the time to do that to be now.

A FIGURE OF MY IMAGINATION

I think of you quite often you know

Inside this empty room the silence whispers careless words into my ears.

I dream of you a lot also, when I blink my eyes in the midst of boredom.

I think of words I have never heard, a touch I have never felt.

A hug, a kiss… you have never given me.

You are an urban legend.

Taunting my spirit and murdering my sanity.

Reaching out to caress my skin you caress my soul.

I let you hold my hand you welcome yourself to my heart.

My problems go away and I stop being angry at the world

The flower inside me blossoms and the record in my head plays a joyous song.

You bring me so much joy

Not for long anyway

I will have to open my eyes and stop daydreaming

I will have to wake up and face reality

I know deep down that this is all

A figure of my imagination.

Daddy's little prayer
I look into her eyes as she holds the tip of my finger and squeezes really hard. I pray that she makes it through the night.
We take her home and after she is fed we go to sleep and I pray that she does not wake up in the middle of the night crying. When she gets a fever I wish I could take it away.
I throw her in the air and as she falls back into my arms she spreads her arms in complete trust and I pray she will always trust me.
Age six she cries that she wants a bicycle and I pray that her requests will always be this simple.
Age eleven she demands her own space we give her a room to call her own and I pray that I will always be able to provide for her.
Age thirteen she gets bullied in school, in pain she comes crying into my arms. I buy her a rose, kiss her forehead and tell her she is the most beautiful girl. I pray that I may always make things right.
Age sixteen a young boy breaks her heart. She locks herself in her room and cries her eyes out; she doesn’t want to talk about it. I pray that she still remains a child just a few more years.
Age nineteen she is a young lady and we argue a lot. These days she doesn’t want to listen nor negotiate or compromise. We grow further apart and I reminisce the days I was her best friend and her confidant. I pray we are not growing apart.
Age twenty one she goes off to college. We worry a lot because of all the temptations that university brings. I pray she does not drink, smoke or do drugs.
She comes home for the holidays and am excited to see her I plan to take her to the movies and buy her icecream on our way back home. I pray she will not blow me off for another concert.
She goes out for another concert and is driven home by a boy. They are in the car for a while before she finally enters the house thinking I did not notice. I pray she has not yet started having sex.
Age twenty five she is just kick starting her career. She is so busy, has no time to visit. She has a life of her own now. I pray she is successful in all that she does.
Age twenty seven she decides to get married. As I walk her down the isle I realize that she is all grown up, she will have to trust another man to love her and protect her. I pray that I haven’t yet lost my little girl.
I sit at home now too old to move around much. Am tired, bone tired. I pray she will come and ride horses with me again. One day there is a knock at the door and there she is with her husband and new born son, am glad that I have been granted the chance to hold him in my hands. His cry is loud, the sign of a strong baby boy. She tells me that she named him after me.
The next morning we go see a movie and I buy her icecream. I thank the Lord that I never lost her. She thanks me for all I have done for her, all I have given her, for all the love I have for her. These are the words all fathers across the world long to hear, that their efforts are greatly appreciated. Then she kisses me on the cheek and whispers into my ear “I love you daddy”. I pray this moment never fades away.
I walk into the house behind her and suddenly I fall to the ground. My chest seems to get tighter and tighter. I try to call for help but no sound comes out. I have a feeling deep within, a calling that is pleasant to the ear. As I close my eyes probably for the last time I pray that I may see her face again, my sweet little girl.