Hideous and peculiar
Or unique and pretty?
I’m not sure what I think of it.
The distinct umber covers my identity,
Like how my eyes are curtains to cover my emotions.
It connects me back to my Indian roots.
To the pride my grandmother carries for our culture.
How she proudly wears her bright red sari
Embossed with intricate gold designs.
But in America, the umber pulls my mouth shut.
At night, it merges with the darkness
Bringing me refuge in a blatantly careless society.
The American beauty standard vastly excluding.
Endlessly browsing stores
Only to find one foundation shade, of course, mismatching.
Picking up a box of crayons,
To find the shade “skin color”
But it’s not my skin color.
Being the only person of color
In the midst of a large crowd.
The distinct umber.
Beautiful. Meaningful. But a handful.