When I was ugly….

I am black. I am extremely black. My nose is not pointed and my teeth aren’t perfect. My skin isn’t flawless and my hair isn’t nice.

I never was called handsome or cute unless the speaker was being abusive or rude. I never felt special or wanted unless the attention given was unwarranted.

I tried to love my ugly self and pretended I was proud but the more I did that the bigger grew my suicidal cloud. I tried once or twice maybe six times. I learned it from the movies; it seemed an easier alternative.

I literally held my head down when I walked. I knew every crevice and crack on my neighborhood side walks.

Life was rough and mean and unkind. Nothing ever seemed fair or right.

I was misunderstood and ganged upon. I had friends but I stood alone.

I once was accused of playing the victim and my accuser I am sure was convinced. It really hurt for he never knew me but clearly thought he did.

However, I forgave and it never mattered anymore. I forgave and I took the power back from them. I forgave and said to hell with those who thought I was ugly, am ugly and was worth being thrown away. I forgave because I really wasn’t ugly!

No…really… I truly forgave… and I wasn’t ugly anymore!


From Nico’s Eyes

Photo by Alex Iby on Unsplash


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