Skin lights - Louisa April

The street lights wink at me

their dim glow barely

illuminates my silhouette

my faulty being

my black skindedness

i used to think i was fluidity

i swallowed the sun and her light

would not pierce through these layers

my head now burried in the sand

ashamed of my attire

i couldn’t undress my self anymore

my nakedness reminded me of the

sun on my ancestors' backs

as they picked white balls, pure like snow

their gazes were cuts, constantly staring

i did not know how to not be

the Gods cast me out of their wombs

i was their dirty little secret

a scab, mould, something different

my skin lights don’t glow like theirs

and i’m okay with this.

i made a necklace using the moon

it reminds me of pearly things.

makes my skin pretty

---

Louisa April (20th century) Botswana

Source: Poetry Soup