Child of the Sun

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When I walk amidst
the vast desert,
the sun's
streams of light
warming my brown skin,
I feel as though
I am a child
of the sun.
The copper rocks
and the golden sands
seethe under
her yellow glow,
but it is
I who crave
her touch.
When the sunlight
seeps through my skin
and warms
the coldness
of my heart,
I remember
exactly who
I am;
I am a child of
of her flickering flames,
the crimson red
of her hair flying across the
sky as she turns
her face
to glance down at me.
Her smile widens
when she reaches the
midpoint
in the cobalt sky,
her blazing heat
casting down
for the world to feel.
She tells me to be proud of
the dark pigment of my skin,
as it was she
who melded me
from the Earth's
majestic lands
and shaped
me into the
person I've become today.
She laughs in disbelief
sometimes
when I tell her
that not everyone
believes that the sun-kissed
color of my skin
is something
to be proud of.
"Don't let
the ideas of
the cynical moon
degrade your spirit,"
she'll sing optimistically as the deserts
grow hotter with each passing second,
the cacti sprouting their desperate hands to her while the animals have scurried to
find shade.
"I've been around to witness
the evolution of humankind,
and I've felt the same
pain your ancestors before you
have felt in the face of adversary.
But remember,
you
are my greatest creation.
The color of your skin
is a reflection
of everything
that I embody—
strength,
beauty,
willpower,
energy,
drive,
and self."
My skin is the color of
tiger eye and fire agate stones,
of auburn
and burnt sienna,
of the bark
of the prodigious
trees and its rich soil—
my skin
radiates
a divine glow
as the sun wraps
her arms around
my frame.
I am a child of the sun,
her comforting presence
a reminder
that being
brown
is beautiful.

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