read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

April 17, 2019
My father's kind face. Every time I allow myself the occasional wallowing in anger, I remember Papa's face, his gentle way, and I feel guilt for my blackness, my propensity to pour hot liquid all over my brittle heart and complain of darkness. I told Mama this countless times—I often whine about the boys in the house to compensate for...IDK. Papa and Byron are nothing but nice to me and I'm just...evil. Not beating myself up unnecessarily, I'm telling you this because it's the truth. Anyway, my entry for the 12th was supposed to be for 13th.