people tell me of my past. they educate me of my persecution. some say they believe it's terrible, and that it was the nation's shame. but some of these people still have thoughts, swirling in their minds, about the color of my skin. they say things; they beat me down with words. it's sickening, it's sad, it's unbearable. my skin has nothing to do with the way I "should" act, or even the way I speak and interact.
how many years have gone by, with racism, sexism, inequality, and so on?
too many.
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