Beauty in being black.

‎They called it too dark. ‎Too bold. ‎Too wild. ‎ ‎Everyday she walked their halls ‎The ones built in marbles and stones. ‎She learned their language, ‎Earned their degrees, ‎Stood among them in classrooms, ‎Offices and even boardrooms ‎But never fully seen. ‎ ‎To them ‎Her skin was a shadow ‎Her accent is a flaw ‎Her hair something to be pruned. ‎ ‎She did straighten her back ‎Lowered her voice ‎Smiled through the stares. ‎But the glow was dim. ‎Dimmed by the constant need to prove, ‎To explain her existence. ‎ ‎But then, ‎She landed ‎ ‎Home. ‎ ‎The airport, a mix of puff-puff and akara. ‎Voices rose like music ‎Her name, pronounced correctly ‎Her skin, reflected in every face. ‎ ‎And just like that, ‎Her glow came back ‎Not because she changed, ‎But because she was finally where she belonged. ‎ ‎Here she didn't need to explain herself ‎She didn't need to hide. ‎ ‎There, they called her different ‎Here, she's divine. ‎ ‎This skin, ‎This accent, ‎This culture. ‎It is not something to overcome. ‎ ‎It is the glow itself. ‎ ‎There is power here. ‎There is pride. ‎And yes, ‎There is beauty in black. ‎ ‎~Khadijah. ‎