Standards

Her hair was as beautiful as the sunrise on a meek sunday . Her beauty was classified as the good one, the wanted. Her beautiful deep blue eyes, no wonder it was the norm, even i wanted to swim in them. Her skin was flawless and fair. My beauty was just as beautiful to me but not in the eyes of the law. They were puzzled as to why I celebrated my round hips, my wide nose they wonder why I was so confident. My beauty was just as beautiful too. They would ask, can I feel it, its so bushy oooh so different like wool, is that your real hair, I love your weave, as if the fake unattractive dead hair defined my living soul. They would ask if my lips were real why my ass was so big but my beauty was just as beautiful to me. In my eyes, my skin celebrated with the sun, my hair defied gravity. Why does my beauty have to be; relaxed , lose, straighten, bleached, calmed, tamed and controlled to be so called 'acceptable'. Her beauty was breathtaking but my beauty, see my beauty was pure magic. #blackgirlmagic?