A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow. - Charlotte Bronte

Loving the skin I'm in


1 nomination

I see her in the mirror a chubby cheeked ruddy imp she looks back at me through dark, almond-shaped eyes a gaze of intensity -a woodland nymph, a sprite, mischievous elf. I've come to accept her though we've had our battles my youthful rebellions against the self futile I know although I turned from my father's Nordic look our Germanic coloration I longed to be "other" of a faraway nation- (as my mother) ( reminiscences of lost Sumer, Scythia...) Always assumed Anglo I'm not not at all and I recall how my half sister, older cousin were never confronted with that assumption. Still, they were asked and often "What are you?" Middle Eastern Greek Gypsy Indian even? And I think of them women on my mother's side of the family permanently tanned dark-haired exotic echoing the East the Hungarian's dimly remembered lineage of tribal people nomads warrior horsemen galloping from Asia. I too, am they I've the fire if not the look... freckle-faced child carrot-topped funny now how I longed for raven blue-black hair- thick and luxurious, shining still, I'm fair not caramel skinned -a light beige not cappuccino nor toffee and I've a wispy, windblown mess my covering like crepe a splotchy fragile parchment crinkled and wrinkled prematurely by this desert's unforgiving sun -that burning blaze... And I'm amazed at how with time peace came and with it understanding to love the skin we're in it's not replaceable we aren't capable of shedding as a snake does- its outgrown hide so grow pride and realize that all bloodlines are a blessed birthright- uniquely beautiful.



© azure warrior
2017-07-12

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