Sunday, November 22, 2015

The people who don't belong to the country they are born into

As a child I never thought of myself as pretty
Even now I am unsure of it that I was
Uncertain, surprised, even guilty
when someone at a party told me
I was beautiful.
And I expected him to burst out laughing
That ofcourse it was a joke
But he didn't.
Because how could I
with slits for eyes,
my petite frame
Be mistaken for beautiful?
You see, I grew up among people
who didn't look like me
And they only complimented each other
For their thick wavy hair
and their big brown eyes
Smug at the knowledge that
They would never be mistaken for aliens
 in your own country, or called names which
 made you cringe and ashamed for looking the way I did
And I think about us, the people who don't really belong
To the country they are born into,
Who grow up believing they are not beautiful.

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