Blackness,  poetry,  Writings

Grace Pt 2: And Beauty Was Her Name

There she is, hiding behind the face of someone I knew, I know.
Some days, when I look up, I see someone unfamiliar,
sultry, mysterious.
Her face is distorted,
all wrong,
this isn’t what she looks like

Today I see her,
when I look up.
I look up and I see her
And she sees me
and I see her,
I really see her.

Her hair is full of life, one all its own.
Sometimes curling up towards the sky, stretching as if to touch the sun.
Bouncing. Freely, contentedly.
Other times soft ringlets fall gently to her shoulders,
A comforting sensation.
As she sleeps it caresses her face, hugging the nape of her neck.
Lulling her to sleep.
It is ever-changing,
Always perfectly complimenting the melanin in her skin.

Her eyes widen,
As I stare into them they change,
Shining obsidian melting into golden brown.
A blush forms over her smooth, luminous,
Earth toned nose bridge.
We share a look, a small smile.

Suddenly I remember it,
Her name.
Reflected back at me

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