"Speaking of lovely; That's what I've always known them to be all my life. Their skin- creamy white and their figure: eight- perfect for the view. I told my father they were like mayonnaise. Some of them were white as sheet, adorned as the image of perfection. They had beautiful hair, tumbling downwards in docile curls. Mine was ugly; it remained an amusement to my brothers who had made a game of hiding my combs just to see me run with the thick mane on my head every morning I had to visit the onÃdìrì. I had wanted just the hair as a little girl. I spent good time staring at commercials that played on our fourteen inch TV set, in awe. My father usually snapped me out of it, sending me to my books; the only way, he chanted day after night. Still , I was always mesmerized by them. I never did look down on my own skin. I didn't realize we were worlds apart. Their flow seeming unnatural, I once thought they were goddesses. I g...
On other days, the ink reflects my thoughts better than my lips ever would...