YOUR SKIN LOOKS LIKE A ROASTED PLANTAIN
have you seen midnight turn midday at 3AM?
An eclipse that blossom into a twilight in mayhem,
the battle of colour supremacy on this canvas called skin,
a place where livid & vivid daydreams,
tone it up till the fat lady sings,
in flash complexity, completion switches like mood swings,
so, the popping melanin brittles away,
when the cosmetic magic starts to decay,
she won’t understand how much her humanness is blessed;
until “hey beautiful!” Becomes a beautiful mess,
If she knew her skin is God’s graffiti,
she wouldn’t have fallen for the lotion like gravity,
you traded this black gold for a glittering wane,
& now your skin looks like a roasted plantain,
how do you honour your heritage when the heirloom has passed away?
death of a living spring; vapidness of sun rays,
to the dying beauty living for days and days;
perhaps, one day, nature takes its rightful place.
Ayomide Inufin D’great
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