My dear Ezinne Ukoha

When I first read you, you frightened me. And I kept reading you. And you taught me.

When someone lives in the middle of privilege they can’t see privilege for what privilege is.

They think

But I am a NICE person.

Why is she angry with ME?

If I could, I would trade places with her. I would TAKE that bullet…

They don’t see that just that choice right there is hellfire. They don’t see that YOU DONT WANT TO TRADE PLACES WITH THEM.

I know that because those are all things I have thought in my life — I was raised by someone who hated all people but POC most of all. I hated him, but that doesn’t mean that living under his roof and absorbing his philosophy by osmosis did not create something in me that was terribly difficult to exorcise.

But I have. And I never understood that the demon was only layer one of the stink of blood on my hands.

And reading you no longer frightens me. But I frighten me. And you taught me.

You have taught me SO. MUCH.


Because you are being heard.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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