The world is made of a variety of colors 

Orange, White, Brown, Yellow, Black..

..Even Green

That combine to configure the Earth we are standing upon

So why shouldn’t we 

Why is my color perceived as who I am

It’s just a skin tone, I say to myself

But others don’t see it that way

And their right

My skin tone is who I am

I am the booming  blasting fireworks of Diwali

I am the tangy spicy chicken curry filled with red chili powder and turmeric that have stained my fingers

I am the elaborate designed bright colored  yet itchy gowns called churidars

I am the hard to pronounce language Tamil

I am the multicolored rangolis that still today I look upon with such awe and adoration for a exquisite art form

I am the beautiful clinking sounds made of the traditional bangles on my hands

I am the luscious jasmine flowers placed across my hair, smelling like the monsoon rain of India

I am the bindi, or as my white friends call red dot, placed upon my forehead, bringing all eyes on me as I walk the halls

I cherish my culture and heritage for it is nothing to be ashamed upon

Not once will I regret my color, my background, my culture, my heritage

For it is what makes me who I am

I am Brown and I am proud