I'm a woman of colour,
A coloured girl if you may,
At least thats what they call me here,
I am black.
Its what they call us who are not white.
I used to be called chocolate back at home,
Some even called me brown,
But you see, chocolate is not a colour of skin here.
It is a shade of my black skin colour.
So I try to add darker shades of black to my mascara,
To emphasize my brown eyes which cannot be blue.
I colour block my orange with my green, at least to the change the hue,
I try to put on pink eye shadow on my eye lids,
They say it doesnt go well with my skin, so eye shadow, I get rid,
They point at me and say..'see there goes the woman of colour.'
They used to call me woman of valour.
At home they said I was purple,
I was royal, to their eye, I was an apple.
A green apple you see.
Because a red apple I would never be,
It is too sweet for my liking.
Here, I am a watermelon to their eyes, my inside and outside alternating.
I am green on the outside and red on the inside,
Because that is what we women of colour are, they decide.
But I will not dwell on the reds, the pinks, the greens or the blues,
I will dwell on my nature of blackness,
The symbol of genuineness,
Because I am a woman of colour.