To You with the Nappy Hair and Big Lips,

I thought I best understood the feeling of loneliness in a place you called home, so I let you handle the only way I knew how. I taught you how to mark your skin with your dissatisfaction—a cut for every “nigger” uttered under sour breath— I let you believe your traits were fatal flaws. Your dark skin cried crimson regularly under the stress of my words. I stole the light from your eyes in favor of the sweet enticing colors of pain in its rawest form. And in response to my deliberate cruelty, you became despondent to any future kindness. You truly believed that you were something nightmares were made of.

Oh god if I had listened. If I made you understand that one day you were going to get out of this shithole town and there’s going to be someone who wants to love you—flaws and all— instead of pondering… as you do now, the merit of his compassion.

Sweet child you must love yourself as I do now. You are you greatest ally and your worst enemy.

Love,
A Friend.