All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
In Essence of being a Beautiful Colored Bastard Child
Wrapped in the stereotypes of my people like cannabis in a blunt,
I wish that I would never have been born in this skin.
I wanted blue and green eyes, blonde, brunette, and red-headed hair.
But these colors would only be overshadowed by my burnt ginger-colored complexion.
I touched my hair and looked at my skin, then asked mama, “Why my hair dirty and why my skin not clear like ‘dem white girls,’
All she said was, “I don’t know.”
I asked my grandmamma the same question; she gave me a different answer:
She said that my hair was kinky because I was a dandelion and dandelions have frizzy hair.
My skin was darker because I wouldn’t have to see the colors of my veins when I got older.
Then I asked her another question,
“Why did my daddy leave?”
She paused and her face became angry.
Then I heard a knock at the door,
There was a man in a green beanie, corduroy gray pants, an oversized purple coat with feathers coming out, and worn out converse sneakers.
It was my grandfather.
“Charles, what you want?”
“Millicent, you know what I want!”
“Hush your voice now, Tracy’s here.”
“You done kept my granddaughter from me for too long, woman!”
“You don’t deserve to see your granddaughter.”
I stood still in the doorway.
Maybe my position was made there for a reason.
I was supposed to keep sanity between the two forces.
I open my mouth to speak but my grandfather came closer into the sunlight,
He was a monster, who just walked from the edges of the ghetto.
He had open sores on his face and neck that were surrounded by white lines.
And when he tried to hug me, I pulled away from him.
I saw them on his hands and ran straight into grandmamma’s arms.
“Charles, ‘git now!”
“You can’t keep her from me forever, Millie, remember that.”
My grandmamma let me go and slammed the door in his face.
She came back over to me and I smelt the scent of my grandfather.
A burnt, stale, and dry smell.
“Baby, to answer your question…”
“Black men are ignorant and don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves