Poetic Justice

I hate it

I know hate is a strong word,
But in this case, it's the right word.
The word that is an excuse,
For the very epitome of my existence,
The very disgrace of my own being.

I hate my skin,
It's so light,
But not a beautiful radiant kind of light,
It's the kind of light that draws more
Attention,
Than it intends on inviting.
The kind of light that leaves frowns,
Sketched upon waried faces,
And I see the aches in their eyes,
Curious about "what" I am.

I hate my eyes,
They change with my mood,
Sometimes theyre a glorious deep brown,
The colour of mud when I smile and I'm
Happy,
Other times they're tinted with tips of
Hazel around the edges,
That's when I'm sad,
And my eyes tell the world that my soul,
Is in agony.

I hate my nose,
Its large as I've been told a few times,
It's the thing that makes me mixed,
Is what they say,
A bulging button that's planted on my less
Than average face.
It's round and barely has a bridge.

I hate my hair,
One day it's a mess of curly strings,
Dangling like limp masses of untangled
Fairy lights.
Then I straighten it,
And then it's too straight to be considered
Natural.
I hate how sometimes it glints it's origins
Of blondes in the sun,
There's a reason I keep it to it's dull brown.

I hate my body,
I have no curves,
Nothing that states my womanhood.
I'm also not a slender model,
With legs that go on forever,
Or arms that lay beautifully along my sides.
I hate every part of it,
Of this exterior I've been given.
My accent is different,
And the weird kind of different,
The kind of different,
That leaves a kid in a classroom,
While all his bullies play outisde.

I hate that my skin and the texture of my
Hair,
States more about me than my personality. I hate that,
I've washed my face with coffee,
Ive even tried darkening my skin,
With the little droplets of blood that
Streamed down the cuts on my arms.

Ive put on wigs and extensions,
Because my hair wasn't perfect enough.
I've cut my hair,
Because I hated how it looked on my head.

I've sat in corners and cried for days on end
Because of the same questions lunging
At my heart.
"What are you?... "
"Why are you so light?..."
"Are you a foreigner?..."
"Are you mixed?... You can't be... "

I hate it all,
The fact that I'm mixed,
Only without the well admired green eyes,
Or the perfect silky hair,
Or even the perfect curly hair.

I'm somewhere... In between... And I just,
Hate it.
But there's three things I'll never hate,
I'll never hate my soul, my mind and
My heart,
My skin and eyes and hair,
May be mixed,
20 different genes flowing through my veins
But I know,

My heart will be set,
My mind will be strong,
And my soul will sing harmonies,
So that other mixed girls,
Will love all the things,
That I hate so much.

(A/n: another deep poem, about my colour awareness... I know, pretty deoressing, I hope I'm not depressing you... I'm just speaking from the heart... Anyways... What did you think? Lol... I use so many ellipses all the time... Ha... I'm... Doing...it.. Again...
Xoxo...
Nikita...)