I used to just sit in the closet, and hide there.
I was scared. That society wasn't ready to accept my skin.

The closet isn't just for homosexuals.

We are all like worn out coats that are shoved into the closet when we are not good enough to be worn.
I used to just sit in the closet  with all the worn out coats and Match patterns with them, oddly even there I was the only brown one.
In my family, we are all white. Until I was born.
The first time I was called a ****** it was by one of my cousins. The words stung like a snake had bitten me on the neck. And injected more blackness into my skin, I was labeled something that I wasn't ready to accept. Her words where a cattle **** that branded me from that point on
I ran into the closet and his there. I didn't leave for seven hours, I counted the hours on my skin with bite marks, I tried to rip my skin off so that I could look like everyone else because my second grade teacher told me we all looked alike on the inside. And I just wanted to look like all the other people in my family with there straight hair and white skin.
I used to hide in the closet. Because it was so dark my skin would fade away into the darkness and my blackness dissolved in the blackness. I was accepted.  I was loved.
I used to hide in the closet.
When I stopped, I straightened my hair and continued to carve away at my own skin until I saw the whiteness I craved for so long. My skin was my closet for so long and for my entire life I was trying to get out.