To think I never used to like my skin,
cursed into darkness from my heritage.
More than sun kissed,
but beaten and hardened into the coal of my DNA.
I despised it and often wondered why, wishing for a brighter future.
Shaking foundations of parenthood,
built on years and generations of culture. Never appreciating it’s history
and now it’s the one thing I love about myself the most.
Few have seen the way the sun does kiss my skin,
glistening and leaving it’s lip prints
sparkled across my body,
my chest attracting all the light
as waves ripple across my timeline
to the drumming of my heart beat.
My legs molded like an animal,
animal of the soil, cultivated
and grown into a fine pedigree.
True blood flows through these veins,
rivers of ancestry flowing in my arms
leaving a path of destruction.
My naive former self shed
and I love it.
I still don’t like my skin
but for other reasons now.
So I’m looking forward to the day
at age 60, like my father, un-cracked skin,
I will look back and realize how much of a fool I was.
Oh no, I am.