Skin does not define who I am, it is not my choice.I did not pick this skin so I gave my skin a voice.

To speak up and say " I'm here" "This is me" and " I am not how I appear." But to you I am my skin, my curves, my organs, genes and hair.

My skin passed down from generations has been touched by Puerto Rican traditions, and Jamaican dishes.

By American lips it was kissed, but by nature it was mixed.

My skin although not my choice is dark and painted with pride. My skin moves to the beat of beauty in the way I stride.

My skin is equal to yours no matter the shade. So why should skin matter, because of the way we were raised?

-Kiara Alexis.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world


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