Golden Hue

My skin drips cocoa butter, 
rich and unparalleled, 
like the earth holding stories of rain and sun, 
like a promise whispered by the night. 
It’s dark and beautiful, 
mysterious as a velvet sky laced with stars, 
It tells a story of history. 

It doesn’t glare or dull,
it balances like a seashell 
cupped by moonlight, 
a perfection gleaming in the sun, 
catching light like a secret revealed. 
This is my skin, 
a story of generations, 
a mark of resilience passed down with pride. 

Its scent is Yara cologne, 
layered and lingering, 
a melody made tangible, 
a fragrance infused with culture, 
with memory, with home. 
Every breath of it recalls 
the places, the hands, the voices 
that shaped me. 

Above it rests a crown, 
soft coils and curls that stretch toward the sky. 
Hair that defies gravity yet welcomes touch, 
a crown sculpted by no one but me, 
alive in its strength, its freedom, 
a hymn of self-love in every strand. 

This essence of me,
is seen and felt
it’s carried, 
it’s lived. 
Every inch speaks 
in a language only I can translate, 
a declaration of identity, 
a love letter to the self. 

So let my skin drip cocoa butter, 
let it shine unapologetically. 
Let it sing of power and joy, 
of beauty that doesn’t ask for permission. 
This darkness isn’t a void, it’s fullness, 
it’s richness, it’s light wrapped in shadow. 

Let it carry the rhythm of culture, 
the heartbeat of diversity. 
In its depth is strength, 
in its texture, truth. 
It doesn’t hide, 
it never will. 
My skin drips cocoa butter, 
and in it lies the whole world.

@okelododdychitchats

The Burden of Being

They say men drag themselves to hell,
As if each step they take is a burden,
As if the weight of their struggles,
Their pride, their pain,
Should remain hidden,
Silent, unspoken.
And when a man is wronged,
When his dignity is stripped away,
When his worth is questioned,
They turn away,
As if it’s his fight to bear alone.
No one speaks up, no one defends,
He’s left to pick up the pieces,
His bruises ignored.

Have you ever seen
What happens when a man’s life is taken?
How the story shifts,
How the reason for his death is twisted,
Explained away,
As if it’s somehow justifiable,
As if it’s easier to accept
If the pain can be rationalized,
If the wrong can be painted in a different light.
The truth is bent,
The facts contorted,
Until the sharp edges of injustice
Are softened, made palatable.

Why is it only wrong when it doesn’t fit the narrative?
When a man’s struggle doesn’t meet the approval of those who’ve never walked in his shoes?
When the pain doesn’t match their prescription of how things should be,
Why do they bend and twist the story to make it easier to understand?
Why is it that the wrongs done to a man are shrugged off,
Ignored, forgotten,
Until they can no longer be ignored?
Is it because they expect him to endure quietly?
To accept disrespect as part of his place in the world?

Why must we turn a blind eye when a man is dismissed,
When he’s disrespected,
When his value is diminished,
As if he doesn’t deserve the same empathy,
The same respect,
The same justice?
Why do we question his pain,
His frustration,
When he’s left standing alone,
Fighting battles that no one else sees?
Is it because he’s a man,
And somehow, his hurt is less?
Somehow, he’s expected to rise without the help of others?

It’s a sad, painful truth that we live in a world
Where some lives are weighed differently,
Where some struggles are minimized,
Where the wrongs done to men are excused,
Simply because they’re men.
But when will we see that pain is pain,
That disrespect is still wrong,
That when a man’s dignity is stolen,
When he’s pushed down,
When he’s wronged,
It’s just as heavy, just as real
As the wrongs done to anyone else?

I won’t stand for it.
I won’t accept it.
I believe we can do better.
I believe we can rise beyond these broken rules,
Beyond these silent expectations,
And see each other for what we truly are,
Human.
Every one of us, deserving of dignity,
Deserving of respect.
And maybe, just maybe,
When we stop justifying wrongs,
When we stop twisting the truth,
We can heal, together.
Men, women, everyone,
Equal in our worth,
Equal in our struggle,
And equal in our right to be seen,
To be heard, to rise.

@okelododdychitchats