The Life of "BLACK PEOPLE"

8.

Not my fault I'm beautiful 💛

October 13, 2018

I rode in my car listening to whatever played on the radio, I was kinda aggravated at myself.

My school decided to acknowledge me, because of my marches and protesting. I wasn't the type who loved recognition, I wanted to kept that life separate from the one I lived.

My phone began to ring, breaking my thoughts

Becca is calling
"Yes moma."

"I heard about you today on the news, congrats." She began sniffing

"Thanks." Cutting the conversation short on purpose

"Can I see you sometime?"
I rolled my eyes, why did she wanna met with me all of a sudden.

"I don't know, I be having a lot going on." I said honestly

"It's free whenever you're free, bring Mashawn too."

"Okay."

There was a few seconds on silence and the line cut off.

I put my phone down before I hit someone.
I pulled up into the big ass house, on the south side.

I grabbed my phone and my little black book bag.
I locked the car and walked up to the door.

I knocked a few times on the door.
Some lady opened it, looking to be about a few years younger then me.

I followed the directions, he gave me earlier.

I knocked on the door and already beginning to smell all the weed.

"Come in."

I walked in, seeing sex toys and shit all over the floor.

I rolled my eyes, at my fathers obsession with sex.

I sat down in a chair, that looked like no nut was on it.

You never know with him.
I can truly say, me and my father never really had bad problems like me and my mother did.

I was just upset that he left his only fucking daughter, knowing her mother was in no good condition to be raising me.

He blew out smoke, making them come out in small circles