I wrote a note yesterday. It doesn't matter because I didn't sign my name.
I figured that once I dotted the I it would be all over and I would be filled with shame.
It's funny how a suicide note has so many words yet feels so empty.
It's funny that the girl with the biggest smile is crying when she thinks no one can see.
It's funny. It's funny it's funny. That my death will be the punchline of a cruel joke.
How bitter words can burn my lungs just like cigarette smoke.
And I choke at the thought of having to live past tomorrow.
And go through another day of pain torture and sorrow.
I tried to borrow a smile to keep from leaving with a klick boom.
How many eyes forget I am there because they won't address the elephant in the room.
I imagine my tombstone reading. Here lies the girl who didn't have enough life to give.
Maybe it was the way she looked. Or acted or just how she ran out of fucks to give.
To live another day in a body that is constantly at war with itself is to watch as the world around you falls apart. Leaving you to pick up the pieces.
They never ask the broken girl if she needs repairing. Because to live in this body and mind and soul is to constantly be a contradiction.
They tell you that you can't be black a female, gay and fat because society has yet to come up with that definition.
You have been conditioned to think that your feelings are wrong. That you a wrong for having them.
Well I am done. I have nothing else to live for. I am done being something that society tries to condemn.
They say suicide is a sin but it has never brought me so much hope.
That all my pain and suffering could end with just a ceiling fan and some rope.
tying the noose so tight that I won't have to feel anothere word cawl it's way down my throat reminding me that I'm not normal.
That my faith my love my hates are immoral.
The constant quarrel of my mind and my soul by itself is enough to want end my pain.
The worst part is I'd go without anybody knowing my name.
I wrote a note yesterday. It doesn't matter because I didn't sign my name.
Not because I was ashamed but because I knew it would go unread.
YOU ARE READING
Black Girl in White America.
PoesíaWarning! If you suffer from extreme butthurtness this book may not be for you and is not suggested for you to read. I am an outspoken African-American girl who although pretty young has had a lot of racial profiling in the 13 years I have been aliv...
