It’s Mine by Lydia Otubanjo

– Does the soft blend of primary colours scattered across my body, frustrate you to assume a frantic dark and light shadow occurs in my past.

Why?

– Do the curls seated below my eyelids offend you, that you render them unnatural with your cosmetic praise and implied imitation.
Why?

– Does the length of my lower limb disturb you, that you are forced to instruct me to distribute elements of them as a feature on your magazine.
Why?

– Does the journey hidden behind the fullness of my lips provoke you, to mock my language of love with sexual innuendoes as I apply my lipstick daily.
Why?

– Does the glossy tinge in my hair embarrass you, or does it just destroy your scientific thoughts of us and melanin.
Why?

– Does the strength of my bones, intimidate your attempt to degrade me as anything less than a glitter of gold, a shimmer of silver and a hint of bronze found in the eastern hemisphere.

No?

Because if these visual properties were yours, you would call them your own.