the outlier

i feel like the outlier.

the dark skinned girl with the short, dense, tightly curled hair. an anomaly against the standard.

everyone else is beautiful and then there’s me, the beauty that has to be searched for, the beauty that has to be reassured.

i feel like an outlier.

the one exception that strews the data and makes the researcher question her theory.

i feel like the outlier.

thrown out to make sense of the world, to make sense of beauty. to make sure that questioning becomes a thing of the past and doubt dies with that of the standard deviation.

i fell like an outlier.

i feel like my beauty isn’t good enough. i can’t be a symbol of beauty because my beauty escapes the first glance. my beauty does not captivate. my beauty needs to be proven.

i feel like the outlier. in a world were easily detected and formally accepted rule the lives of those they never see or care to look.

i feel like an outlier.

then i remember,  this is how i’m supposed to look. if i lived in a world of kisii  women, i’d know that my dark skin reflects the beauty of all colors from the sun and my towering height draws me closer to the sun’s strength. if i lived in a world of Makololo (Sotho) women, i’d know that my hips and butt absorb the good of the earth and spread earth’s nourishment to the fullness of my breasts.  if i lived in a world of Lozi women, i’d know that my wide nose, full cheeks, captivating smile, strong calves, round belly, touching thighs, visible collar bone, piercing eyes, hourglass shape, beauty marks are a symbol of my royalty.

i am an outlier in world of fabricated beauty and manipulated physique. but in my world, the world that birthed me and gives me light, i am Queen and servant of the Universe- and everything in between.