Woman.

Open Letter to My Father.

Father, if I may call you by that. You've led me to darkness, closing the every door in my face. Chuckling in my presence, hurting me because-

I exist.

At an early age I learned to hate you. Four, to be exact. Because when I was four, I saw things I shouldn't have, I'd been hurt, touched in ways I should have been. Slept on floors of others homes, been without water, or food. Or guidance. Or love. But it happened, and I hated you for not protecting me. I held my hand while in danger, wiped my own tears, loved myself. You weren't around to do so.

I've been locked in a house of fire, a fire spawned by lies and abuse. It seems infinite but I know now to climb out of a window. A window that will lead me away from suffering, a window that will be my escape from the darkness. I know that that it is a window to self-love, a window to happiness. A window relief from all of the anger.

But I'm still angry. More so hurt than angry, but I know that hurting is temporary. I know it all too well. I know there will be dozens of more broken promises from you, more lonely birthdays, less Christmas phone calls because you're too busy with you other families. I know there will always be an emptiness, I try to fill that emptiness with other men. But they can't mend that part of me, yet they try. I'm hurt again.

I know you think you're doing your best, but a phone call more than once a year would be nice. Blaming everything on my mother isn't fun to hear anymore. A visit, a walk in the park, dinner, a talk about the kinds of boys to stay away from. It would all be nice, but you excuse yourself from my life.

I'd learned to hate black men, banishing all of them from my life and my future because of you. I'd turned them down for a man with "cleaner skin", because I was taught that white is right. I hated my skin, my hair, my culture because I was taught so by my mother. A woman that you chose to lay with, furthermore sharing the same views as you. I've combed out my kinks, had that mother of mine spread perm on them by 3 and searched high and low for bleaching creams by 11. Thank god, I kept the little bit of melanin I do have.

But I have to thank you, you've showed me what kind of men I should not welcome into my body. You've showed me what kind of men should not have a key to my mind, my soul. You've showed me that I belong to no man, only myself, and that is good enough for me. You've showed me that a man will see your beauty, yet he will still not bat an eye at a woman's pain. You've showed me how angry I was at the world, at you. You've showed me how scared I was to love, or to be loved because love was never an option for me.

And for once in my life, I'm fine with your absence. You're not around to silence me, or watch my tears fall. And I'm happy without your presence. You only seem to bring a dark cloud, and I no longer wish to be angry with you.

In fact, I'm happy for you. I'm happy after almost 18 years of spreading your seed about, you're learning to be a father. Maybe not to me, or my sister, but to the others. And I'm happy for them. You're still learning.

I'm happy here. With myself. I have no one, but myself and I've finally learned to be content with that. No one - not you, my mother, no one can still this joy that I've found in myself. This serenity, this calm that I've discovered in a life full of chaos. I'm no longer angry.