I flip through old photographs of me; I couldn’t recognize the girl in those pictures anymore.
I don’t feel like her, I may even be forgiven if I mistook her for a stranger.
You know deep down in you; that you somehow have a connection with her but you know for sure that she is not what you are today.
Do you remember how scared you were of something new?
Do you remember how unsure you were about being who you are?
That you were terrified, absolutely terrified that you will lose that eloquent self that you were.
Afraid that you find out that you were, in fact a hypocrite.
You find that you stumble upon pieces of yourself scattered everywhere.
You find a piece one day, the next; maybe the next week.
Uncertain of who you are morphing into,
Hoping and praying that she is a better person than who you were.
And you thought your soul-searching teenage days were over.
You were wrong my friend, you’re still growing.
And my friend, I think you secretly rejoice in the fact that you are; in fact, still growing.
No matter how freaking scary it is, a dark room, wondering if there is a candle at the end of your journey-that you will find your skin.
Your beautiful brown skin.
Neither white, nor ebony,
Your freaking brown-yellow skin.
And your beating, bloody heart.