The schoolgirls fan over my melanin like it’s designer.
Why can’t I take the compliment, Ma?
Is it admiration if they would claw the skin
off my mannequin only to drape it
around themselves. I must be careful.
Bloodshed is nothing new for them.
Stains always come out in the White wash.
The popular girls want to take my skin
for the day. Can they, Ma? You had to wear
Fair and Lovely* for the job interview.
Maybe they’ll be my friend. Or maybe they’ll
grow tired of how heavy it feels over time.
Deep down, I know it’s only temporary
to be an accessory amongst their necklaces.
The girls want to know where I got my melanin.
What do I tell them, Ma? They want to impress
Josh, a boy in our class. He says that
he’s always wanted to fuck a P*ki girl.
I wish I could tell them that I am not
a pretty dress in the shop you try on for fun.
But it’ll bring out the blue in their eyes.
The girls at school laugh at my skin.
Why don’t they like me anymore, Ma?
They copy my tan but call me a terrorist.
Say that I’m too dark, as if there could ever be
one perfect shade to colour the evening sky.
Melanin isn’t in season. I already know this,
the second the police come to the door.
*a skin-lightening cream
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