I'm guessing it hasn't occurred to you, that your words have been swords hand crafted by your hatred to kill me. I used to think that maybe it was because I had grown distant, or maybe because I left you when you needed me most, or maybe because God had finally seen a son in me and when you were done crucifying me, he sent his angels to take me away from thee.
I had hoped that upon my return, you would see the fight that I have kept in me, I had to march through my own soul with nothing but a pocket knife and murder every single demonic creature in me. I had hoped that you would see that, that day I had to commit the worst kind of suicide, only to come back and compare it to Resurrection. I had hoped that we would see that there is friendship in this freedom. That we would see out Dr king's dream, that one day you would "not judge me by the colour of my skin but the content of my character."
I had hoped that you would help me plant my future in this garden and not bury my past in it. I had hoped that the day I committed suicide you would write me better eulogy, not have a journalist write about me on the front page. See black and white graveyards are not taught differently on any map in geography. So, if you hate me, know that when you die, your memory will also end up a mystery.
©heard
H