She picked her bag and walked towards the door, all set to hit the dance floor, to booze, to party, to hug and bid her buddies adieu. She turned to look into the mirror to examine herself one last time. Ravishing in red, inches taller, stood a girl in the mirror, smiling so confidently.
Amidst the gorgeous madness, she suddenly realised a flaw. No matter how elegantly she was carrying herself, she is dark skinned. And dark is never beautiful.
She sat on her bed, trying to figure out if her skin is darker or her soul. Would she like herself as much even after the party?
She shut her eyes. She reminisced running around in a pink frilly dress, licking a lollypop, holding a balloon, two little ponytails barely touching her ears. There was no pain, neither on the outside nor in the inside of her. No dark skin issues and the concept of dark soul was out of question. She was loved.
But love wasn’t her problem. She was still loved, and she experienced intense, physical love few months ago. He had loved a part of her so much that he stared at it with thirst. He couldn’t hold his love in for long, so he held onto her, bruised her, thrust in and poured out and left her before she realised.
The world found out and now, a lot like him love her. Just the way he did. In a “no rings for sluts” sort of a way. Many like him want her. Just the way he had once wanted her. He got her.
She was conditioned to crave to be white, from her teeth to her vagina. Her teeth are, but her vagina?
