Tag Archive: brown


I live in a country were pale skin is considered pretty

Which is an irony

Because most people are brown, bronze, dark, or colored

.

They look at me with envy

And say I’m lucky…

Only because I’m pale, that they think me a beauty.

.

Almost everyone here wants snow white skin

While I think “morenos” or “morenas” are beautiful

But I don’t try to change my skin color

Unlike most I see around me

.

If beauty is just skin deep

Then I don’t want to be considered beautiful

I’d rather be seen as pretty because of my dry wit and sarcasm

Because of my intelligence and quirkiness

.

I’ll shed this pale white skin

And be a different kind of beauty

She needed to change
She could feel it
It was a necessity
So she let it

Her brown hair, was slowly becoming black
Her eyes, more brown than anyone could ever dream of
Deep inside she’s the same
Outside, different

And so her chestnut is no more
Her transformation, complete
She is now known as the girl with jet black hair

Brown Than Ever

Her eyes were brown and they shown bright whenever she saw the stars

There were times she wanted to be alone just because

She did not want to know of time for time was often in a hurry

She sat there with all the time she had and her brown eyes were more brown than ever

Maria Michaela

Grey Eyes

eyes of grey tear me apart

the longingness, the emptiness, the mischievous smile

behind those eyes of yours

crippling my very soul to the brink of extinction

 

what do those eyes of yours say?

I couldn’t quite figure out.

i’m falling into the void, at a loss….

…for words are nothing compared to those eyes

 

it sees eternity, an endless serenity

my chaotic mind twitches at the sight of it

oh! how deep and dark are those grey eyes

that hold me, that confuses me

 

yet still I can’t help but be drawn to its magic

it’s power over me is strong

and I still can’t unerstand what they might

or would ever mean as they stare back into

these brown eyes of mine

 

what do they see?

I can’t help but wonder……

A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,

The headless aftermath,

Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,

Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,

The whir of sober birds

Up from the tangle of withered weeds

Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,

But a leaf that lingered brown,

Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,

Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth

By picking the faded blue

Of the last remaining aster flower

To carry again to you.

– Robert Frost
Don Charisma

because anything is possible with Charisma

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Rishita Sanya

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Dr. Eric Perry, PhD

Psychology to Motivate | Inspire | Uplift

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