I'm not white, ya know, I'm just sweet vanilla manilla is all. I'm no blank page for all-caps screams neither, not for the verbiage others bag and tag from dumpsters past. I came to this party the same time as y'all; I saw the mess here the same as y'all; I wanna set it all right for everyone the same as y'all, gettin' everyone the same seat and plate of food for this event we call living. So if you see a girl who has a good heart, that's all good, otherwise, move along, nothing to see here.
She was the sort of white girl whose blushes remind one of roses, those delicate champagne hues.
She was the sort of white one thinks of with the Celtic, almost translucent. It was if any hint of brown her skin might have had went into the relaxed waves of her hair.
I guess they'd call her skin white, yet it was not the white of a new page but the palest of brown.
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