The Gifts of the Gods

A head upturned to face the radiance of the gods,

Hands unfolded as if to capture the warmth of the sun’s beating heart,

And my eyes burn in this bright light, a brilliance too far from my own mediocrity.

And so I, the nature girl, the one playing in the dirt and feeding the squirrels,

Find myself in a constant position of forced optimism, of pearly white teeth, and straight hair and you’re so much prettier when you smile.

And the make-up heavy on my face a reminder of my departure from the state of nature Mother Earth blessed me with.

My clean, soft ready-to-shake hands having lost their calluses, lost their dirt and paint and chewed-to-the-nub fingertips.

My head raised upward in faux confidence, a straightened spine, the outward image of black sophistication.

And yet I’m blinded, my eyes burning, tearing up.

Because it’s too much and it doesn’t feel like me and striving for conformity rather than natural beauty feels daunting and nauseating and hopeless.

This is a message to remain as the Earth Mother made you in all your grandeur.

You are beauty, you are grace, we can see it in your black face.

You don’t have to smile your white smile or straighten your curls.

Keep the dirt, keep the paint, keep the comfort.

Remain wholly in the whole self, in assurance that you are a true gift from the gods,

Matching their radiance head for head,

Curl for curl,

Fingertip for fingertip.