+ In My Skin

March 30, 2016 | Enchantment

Little Black girl who told you to hate yourself? To hate your curly hair or to envy white skin and see your black as sin? Who told you to fear your own light and befriend the darkness? Maybe it was the news, internet, TV, or magazines. Or maybe it was the colorism that flooded your community. You used to desire to be as ease in your own skin. You longed to be. To be happy, to be loved, to be cherished, be valued and worthy. You would become one with the night and stay up under the spell of the moon. You were enchanted by the stars and captivated by the majestic sounds of the universe. You were seeking that same magic, divinity, and truth in yourself. You had to wander through rivers of your own fears and swim through pools of insecurities to find what you were seeking.At last, your power and enchantment washed over you, healed you and cleansed you of internalized Eurocentric beauty fallacies. Through your uncertainty you became certain. Through seeking, you were found. Through questioning what felt like darkness you became enlightened.  You became who you were destined to become and always were, a black being of light, power and magic. Your blackness isn’t a fault or a burden it is your gift and your strength. Little Black girl there has always been light in your Blackness.

— Angelica King, Enchantment.


March 30, 2016 | Dear Body, You Haven't Been Listening.

These lips, and these scars, and all of the proof in your stretched skin marked by the fate of your body does not define your beauty. Nor does the hair that trickles down the curvature of your alignment. So deep with divots to the valley of your waist. If anything, your beauty plunges so deep aligning the nature of your love so thick as the skin you sleep in, so broad as the bones you are held in. The definition to your mind clinging to the wisps of your hair, so fiercely dark but lush to skin. If fingers were to touch, may it get lost in its mindful locks that tie to West Indian trade off the backs of Hispaniola ports. What fears you may hold in the essence of your tarnished and tainted skin will never lessen the magnitude of your soul. Who you are as a woman will never be signified by the people who stroked you bare. Your beauty, that odd, splotchy, bumpy, supple, and bronze beauty will never be ideal. Not martyred to society’s standards, your beauty with strength so gallant had the power to do what the Golden Ratio couldn’t. Your beauty redefined the body. Do you see how powerful you are now?

— Jasmine Michel, Dear Body, You Haven't Been Listening.