I feel the sting on my cheek from his palm. I feel the pain in my ribs from his feet. How did we come here?

I am six. I see my brother. I want to be like him. He eats his food and I eat mine. He runs to play I follow and play too. He struts with his head up high with confidence. He says, “Walk like me and you will have mad respect.” I listen intently. Taking it all in. Copying and doing as he said. I look up to him as if he’s some movie star. With adoration since he’s my brother and I respect because he is bigger. I wished I was bigger, confident, stronger, fearless, but I was not.

I am nine. I see my dad and I fear him. I run and hide to get away from the sting. His nails rake across my cheek, slashing and cutting my sensitive skin. I scream and cry out as he comes at me with rage. It scars my heart as he cuts me. How did we come here?

I am twelve. I feel the abandonment and hurt of my dad. I am damaged goods. I feel unwanted and not good enough. I see those perfect families and wish I had it too but I don’t. It makes me feel unworthy to be even the lost child. I am misery. I am pain. I am me.

I am thirteen. I am at a new school. I am unwanted and judged because of my color. A girl said, “I wish the Kansas City schools didn’t lose their accreditation. So all of you n****** can go back where you came from.” I was hurt and depressed. I didn’t fight back. I lost myself in poetry and music. I used sleep as my escape. My attitude was snobby and I pushed my family away. I isolated myself to hide my emotions. I stopped trying to tell someone because I knew it wouldn’t change anything. I changed my colors from vibrant blues and yellows to blacks and deep purples. How did we come here?

I am fourteen. I feel the caress of his palm on my cheek. The soft whisper of his lips as he says, “I love you.” I hear the words of encouragement when he tells me to be headstrong and don’t let them win. The way he says, “You are amazing the way you are. Never change for anyone.” He makes me feel special and wanted. How did we come here?

I am still fourteen. I am a month away from my 15th birthday. I will be happy. I have a mom that loves me; a brother who protects me. I still wear black and deep purples. You know what they say once you go black you never go back. My past isn’t great but it shapes who I am today. I am stronger. I am confident. I am fearless. I...am...me.