There really wasn't any stopping it. It wasn't my fault that my skin was as dark as the night, or my nose was broader than any other's, my hair was always rough looking and broke easily. There was nothing I could do, because to them I will and always will be, the black girl. HR: #3 Short Story Graphic by caesium-

Marriage. A concept institutionalized from birth. A goal women are trained to aspire to. A romanticized idea that plagues my mind incessantly. As life takes its course I find myself yearning more and more to find that man; the one that my mother fervently prays for, my grandma emphatically prophesies over, and my pastor regularly preaches about. The one that will come into my life and make everything fall into place. But what happens when he does come? To say that life is not a bed of roses would be an understatement.