One Drop

One Drop. They told me I was pretty for a black girl. Me, with my pale olive toned skin, the traces of Europe in every curve of my face. They said I was pretty, but only for a black girl. One Drop. They said they loved my fro. My fro? They mean the curls that bounce on my shoulders, each strand coated in gel or Cantu. And so, they liked my "fro". One Drop. One drop too much for a standard beauty, but just enough to still be pretty. Your warped perspective, your corrupt standard, your false ideas of beauty. Bring some chairs to the table of the elite, because my queens need a seat. Invite my pure bred sisters, with the rich ebony skin, curls tighter than the space at this table, roots deeper than the mighty Oak. One Drop. I am not pretty for a black girl. I am not pretty for a white girl. One Drop. I am not pretty for a mixed girl. I am beautiful. We are beautiful. Period.