tassels of grass as dark as night

litter her body

magnificent ringlets

a blackish-brown commotion

rests upon her head

deep rich olive consumes her skin

warm chocolate eyes like hued morning dew

archipelagos of blemished flowers across stretches of land

she is a garden

but she is taught that she is made of weeds

to be plucked

waxed

straightened

draped

lightened

why does she long to change into a garden

of light, silky blades of grass

azure eyes

small waists with little to no blossoms

when both gardens yield from the same soil

the shame of color

is not inbred

it is instilled

women of color