dear God, i’m sorry

dear God,

i’m sorry i don’t look like you. i have shit embedded into my skin, and i know it makes me reek, because deborah in first grade made everyone hold their nose when i walked into the room.

dear God,

if you’re listening, please straighten my curls. right now, my hair is a petting zoo, one where only white people got an invitation to pet the monkey.

dear God,

are you listening? i’ve learned how to sound educated. i don’t think i could handle another reason to stand out, when my brown skin is a spotlight on its own.

dear God,

please stop them from asking me to play basketball. they don’t listen when i tell them that i don’t like sports, they don’t listen when i tell them that i’m clumsy, they don’t listen to what i say at all. all they see is my height and skin, but just because i’m black doesn’t mean i was born to shoot.

dear God,

just let me die. life has shown me that mine means nothing at all, so ending it would be no sacrifice. i’ve been told that those who kill themselves go to hell, but here on earth is just the same; although, if i was able to choose, i’d pick hell, because at least i’d be surrounded by people who understand.