The Fault in Our Hearts

Section 1: Black and Ashamed

I am a fault.

That is what I am. It is loud and clear. Everytime my mother looks at me, I can see the sadness in her eyes. The tears welled up because I am not what I am supposed to be and I never will.  

I am black. I am not supposed to be. I look at myself everyday and I hate what looks back at me. I take a knife to my body to hope that it looks paler.

It doesn’t. All it does is make ugly scars that marr my skin. I am laughed at. I am whispered at.

Everyone looks away from me. I sit at the back of the class. People walk ahead of me. 

I am black.

And I am ashamed because of it.  My mother is. My father was so ashamed he walked away. 

I was there that day when he looked at me. A look that broke my heart. He looked at me with disgust and turned away. There was a glint: hatred. He walked out of the house with a suitcase.

And he didn’t look back. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. I questioned my worth. If I was special, why did he walk away? My mother cried. 

Her heart was ripped out. 

Because of me. So I picked a knife from the kitchen. I placed it over my arm.

And I cut. I did it again and again. I look in the mirror everyday, and I hope to see myself paler. 

But I never do. 

I am a fault.

I am black.

And I am ashamed.