When I was little I didn\'t see color. I liked it better that way but in some sort of way I would see color. I remember the moment I cried really hard for the first time. I was in 1st grade, and we were learning about Martin Luther King, I was the only black girl in my class ALSO the only dark skinned person in my class. So naturally when we were learning about judging those not by the color of their skin but by the content of their character everyone looked at me. (Sadly that is only a few of the lessons I remember reading in first grade along with Mae Jemison and Abraham Lincoln. As I got older Sojourner Truth and Phillis Wheatley were my influences.) Later that day, people in my class apologized to me as if I casted a curse to hinder them but as a child I accepted them and assumed they were the cause of racism and were truly sorry. Unfortunately the loving world didn\'t last long because the next day they took their apologies back. I felt as short as I was, so I was picked on but not as nearly bad than in the years to come. I shed out of my skin wishing for a different color; AS IF I could be painted a different pigment. \"NO MORE MELANIN\" is what I would think. BUT, I never knew they echoed what they heard at home. The following year became worse. And each growing day more worse. Did I mention history used to be my favorite subject? Oh, well it was until I stopped hearing about my influences, the ones who compel me to write, (Sojourner Truth and Phillis Wheatley) and I needed that in middle school because they made me feel proud to be me. A BEAUTIFUL MELANIN DARK SKINNED GIRL. Sadly, there would never be a black history month or slavery lesson ever white washing the world as if taking my freedom isn\'t enough. Sorry, my ancestors freedom. I\'m blessed enough to be born free. Racism is taught not birthed.