I wish I could show you, truly show you how beautiful you are; how the pigments of your skin tell stories of strength, reverence, prestige. How you are wiping away histories of honour as you wipe your face, your neck, your hands, your entire body with bottles promising you these very same things. Promising you beauty.

As if, all the beauty one needs is embedded in the minds of others, perfectly contained in bottles with faces brighter than the moon, lovelier than their promises. As if the pigmentation you were born with tells stories of inadequacy, unattractiveness, a being with no aspirations and accomplishments. A person in need, in need of beauty. 

Please allow me to narrate to you stories of the honour that is your skin tone, colour, shade. Please allow me to show you, truly show you how beautiful you are. As you are. 

Beauty that is bought in bottles, has its expiration date on the back. You are worthy of much more than that. You are a beauty that is embedded in confidence, in knowing that as you are, is beauty. 


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