Because being a Black woman is an honor.
It’s true: when I am dripping in bronze-and-beauty store jewelry, I feel like royalty.
Because it’s not the price tag, it’s the aura I carry.
See, my beauty isn’t cheap.
My hair was woven with Cuban twist and bubble braids.
Drenched in gold embellishments, sparkles to bring light to my crown.
I felt like royalty.
A leopard-tubed dress paired with a thrifted sweater with a sexy fur trim. Black shiny boots from the clearance rack.
Finally wore makeup, Fenty shade 420 with a dash of Rare Beauty.
NYX on my lips.
Gold hoops, the bamboo style, draped on my ears.
Smelling like shea butter with powdery notes and brown cocoa oil.
Glistening skin with sparkles reflecting off my brown skin.
Oooh, to be a Black woman.
Soft like buttah and fine as wine.
I looked in the mirror and felt strong.
I looked in the mirror and felt like me.
I looked in the mirror and saw royalty.
I looked in the mirror, and I liked me.
You can never be me.
Oooh, to be a Black woman.
With love,
C.Alilijah