portrait of a mother

My eyes are tired. They are boring and brown. They don't see very well, but they have seen love. And lots of it. They've witnessed two little miracles growing before them for the past year.

My eyelashes are long, with some help from a little mascara. They make me feel pretty.

My eyebrows are uneven but are known for their expressions.

My forehead is high and soaks up the sun, especially where my hair parts. It hates to be covered by bangs. I believe it makes me strong.

My nose is my own, shared by no one I've ever seen. It is wide; maybe crooked. It's mine.

My lips are thin, but can be found in a smile on most days. And in a smile, the size of my lips doesn't matter.

My cheeks are full. I gave them to my children.

My face is dotted with freckles. They are my little badges of honor, of all the moments I've spent playing in the sunlight. 

I am not black, or white. I am freckled. 

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