Colorism

The world I see

is not painted with justice

but with gradients of cruelty

I am tired—

not of being, but of watching

how shades of skin determine

who is seen and who is silenced

I have been witness

to a storm without end

in which beauty is measured in tones,

and love rationed by lightness

Instead of unity

I found walls of pigment,

a cruel and ancient hierarchy

that lives inside our mirrors

And yet

I cannot stay silent.

We are a generation

that must unlearn the poison

that fairness is precious,

darkness worth less

I hold onto the hope—

not easy, but necessary—

that one day, skin will be skin,

and color will be color, nothing more.

Until then,

I will speak

I will name the wound

refuse the lie—

We are all light and shadow

earth and sky, whole, unyielding.