Will a boy accept me for who I am?

All my flaws,

my main flaw; my skin.

Can I even learn to accept the skin that I’m in?

My skin is fine, brown soil that grows the finest grass,

millions short and thin,

Fills me with insecurity,

that’s the power of my skin;

The power it has over who I really am.

I’m tired of the remarks,

I’m tired of my tears,

I’m sick of the comments I’ve gotten over the years.

For the last time, I GET IT!

But the insults stop here.

Look at it like this,

I am a child of the most high God.

I was made in His image,

 His masterpiece that He applauds.

Still I hope one day, one day when,

a boy will accept all of me, and pay no mind to the content of my skin.

When you look at me, judge me mainly by the beauty within,

My sweetness and love,

Not my skin.

Fine, brown soil that grows the finest grass.

I can cut it,

but only for it to sprout again.

So learn to accept the skin that I’m in.