What's wrong with the skin I'm in?
Does it somehow pierce you,
Evade your notion of beauty?
Why is my skin associated with sin?
My tone is neither washed, not golden,
Nude nor olive.
My skin is, dare I say it, black
Like the mystery of midnight sky
Where the stars are hidden within it
Look closer I say, perhaps you'll see the glimmers until your blinded by beauty.
What's wrong with the skin that I'm in?
I forgive you for wanting me to peel it, erase it and bleach it. I won't be reduced because of it.
I am me - because of it.
The skin I'm in is perfect epitome of beauty,
A perfect shade of the stars within me.
There's nothing wrong with the skin I'm in.