Take me back to the roots of despair; take me back to the time where colourism became uprooted and drilled into the mind until this day.
The sun scorches my skin as I continue with my daily routine of working outside the plantation in the mist of the green fields picking cotton, hanging laundry and growing the crops. Feeling like nobody witnessing this division among the black community losing the voice deep within. The voice buried into the depth of my soul the voice wanting to scream out to the world
Stop this colourism!
Stop this favouring in lighter skin women!
Am tired of the black man's light skinned fixation!
My eyes gazing through the window at this woman with a skin complexion closer to white working inside the plantation cooking and washing the master's clothes watching her being worshipped like a goddess.
Falling in love with a man who mother wouldn't even allow me to date her son because I was darker than a brown paper bag afraid that her grandchildren would come out darker than black with nappy hair like mine. My heart sank when she took the brown paper bag and held it against my skin shaking her head from left to right telling me my skin is not lighter than a brown paper bag denying my right with her son. I am even denied entering into churches, fraternities and nightclubs and as I walk down these lonely streets I see the man I love with a woman lighter than a brown paper bag poisoned by this gold digger. But when he was broke these women didn't take an interest.
Even my half-sister brained washed into desiring lighter skin. Bleaching her skin to get rid of her natural dark chocolate skin she desires to trade places with the light skin woman. I hardly recognise her anymore her skin almost as light as a white woman and she covers the roots of her hair with long human hair weave.