And so I scratch at the skin I was given,
Skin that is pale and they see as somehow purer,
But it doesn’t change to the colour I desire.
A stark red instead appears –
As if to say:
Again, I will fail you.
Again, I will not fulfil you.
How can you tell me:
‘it’s what’s on the inside that counts’,
when you, too,
judge on our colouring?
I see my tiddas and I am in awe of their strength,
I join in their fight against colourism,
and admire how they see past my shade.