Naa Asheley Afua Adowaa Ashitey

How to clear hyperpigmentation

I keep trying to write stories and poems about how
dark skin girls should love themselves,
Because we are the most blessed of womankind.
That others are simply melanin envious, and that their hate is simply because
They desire to be covered in the same amount of warmth and love that covers us.

But I do not love my melanin.
My google search history is filled with “how to clear hyperpigmentation,”
Because I want even skin, clear skin, skin that is less hyperpigmented.
I used to be so angry when my mom would drench my face with the lightening lotion
she told my dad to bring back from his trips to Ghana, instead of asking him
for Kente fabric for her to sow me a dress.
I used to cry when she said that I’m not cleaning myself well enough and it is taking away
my beauty.

Now I stare at the light and dark patches of skin on my face,
Wondering if I am truly not cleaning myself well enough.
Is my face truly that dirty? I pulled out old photos of myself at age five and began to
wonder if
The benzoyl peroxide that peeled away my forehead acne in fifth grade,
Should’ve been used on my elbows and knees instead.

The last time my boyfriend ate me out, it took him longer
Then normal to get me to come because I started thinking about whether
he thought that the dark patches formed from years of my thighs chafing together
ruined the view he so kindly blesses when we see each other.

I dream of the day that my daughter may cry about her skin,
And I get to comfort her and tell her that she is beautiful.

That she is sun kissed, blessed and my love for her will never be defined by how much melanin she may gain or lose throughout her life.
Even though I know when I tuck her in, I will walk to my bathroom, brush my teeth,
And end my skin care with drenching my face and neck with the contents from that
pink lightening lotion bottle that my parents sent me,
or I brought back from my visit to Ghana three months prior.  

I am terrible a Black woman,
But I’m trying to be better.
I’m so sorry Black women. Please forgive me.

Naa Asheley Afua Adowaa Ashitey (She/Her/Hers) is a Chicago-born writer and an MD-PhD Student at UW-Madison School of Medicine and Public Health. She is interested in the intersection between scientific research, medicine and the humanities. Her works have been published or forthcoming in Broken Antler Magazine, JAKE, The B’K Magazine, Abstract Magazine and more. More at NaaAshitey.com