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BROWN SKIN

Many people don't know me, but I don't know who me is either.   I can't tell you if I'm the loud or rude stereotypical black girl because Mom would say I need to speak up. I'm using my library voice with strangers.   I can't tell you I'm the introvert because I like good company and publicly share my thoughts aloud.   I was born into a world that judges me before they get to know me. And try to attack the concept of happiness. I need it most in this filthy world we live in. I need you. Because you listened and didn't say a word. Just you being there was enough to make me believe you understood the troubles in my sentences and words spoken in a foreign language.    I want myself back, but I can't remember who I was.

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