My family and I are from Michoacan, Mexico. I was always the darkest, chubbiest one out of my family. They are lighter skinned, with light brown hair and colored eyes. I was dark skinned, brown eyes with thick, coarse dark hair. I always struggled with my weight while my cousins all thinned out as we got older. It didnt help that my mother wished I looked more like my sister. I always struggled with my self image. I always wanted to look more white and be skinny with no curves. My dad side of the family come from Aztec decent, and I was lucky enough to recieve those genes (my mom has Italian decent). Now that I’m older, I’m still chubby but well endowed, and I love it. I love my skin color and couldn’t love my hair more. I learned to embrace all the things I hated about myself. I am Latina and I’m proud to be part of the darker part of the latinx culture. Darker latinx should be worshipped, loved and respected just as much as lighter skinned latinx. All latinx are beautiful, but We are beautiful too.

She is not the one. 
Your knees are too weak for her history, and those with no backbone will be weighed down by her self respect. When you need easy, she will never be. A fighter, with a soft smile and sharp edge. I watched her live to tell her tales when nobody thought she could. And I knew then, as I know now, she is not the one. She could never be. Certain things defy odds, but are never the same. They grow wildly, and become untamed. And you won’t know what to make of a black rose surviving on its own. She’s your long way home, the sunset horizon, the city streetlights in the evening rain. She is love in the early mornings, And she is not the one, because that’s not nearly enough. She’s the space that fill in what’s missing. She is everything else.
—  J. Raymond