When you were just three years old, your mother decided she no longer wanted to be a parent anymore. She wrapped you up in ill-fitting clothes and dropped you off on the steps of her brother. For three to four years, you believed you had a family. That was until you stepped off the yellow school bus on your eighth birthday and met with red, white, and blue lights of a cop car. They removed you from the only family home you could remember under false pretenses. They told you that you were going on a field trip for the weekend. It was not until you arrived at your first foster home a couple of weeks later that you learned just how not right things were. They tell you that the one person you trusted not to leave or hurt you was a monster just like the rest of them. You don’t want to believe them, but you still have nightmares about all the unspeakable acts that happened behind closed doors and the events that occurred out in the open.
He told you he could see himself marrying a chocolate goddess who he could bring forth life's greatest gift with. His fingers seduced you with strings on an acoustic guitar, and his voice serenaded you into a false sense of home. You stayed for five long years thinking, no praying, that things would get better, all for it to crumble beneath your feet one lone night. The phone he used to sit out in the open, he now clutched tightly in his grasp close to his chest. The password is no longer a mix of your birthday and anniversary. He leaves the room to respond to anonymous texts and exits the house to answer calls. You finally work up the courage to demand the truth as you are two seconds away from losing your sanity. As he opens his mouth to speak, you can't quite believe the words that come tumbling out next. He doesn't know if he ever loved you or if he could ever love you.
Dear Mr., I prefer exotic women because black women are crazy,
If anyone had asked me, I woulda told them I ain't do nothing wrong. I got up, made my bed, ate breakfast, and brushed my teeth like I was supposed to. I mean I mighta argued a little when getting dressed. You woulda too if you saw what Momma laid out. The pale pink dress stared at me, taunting me. I wasn’t one to let things go easily, so I stomped my foot at it and stuck my tongue out as far as it would go. Without even looking at me Momma spoke in a hushed tone.