Sent to you by moya via Google Reader:
Sometimes, I just want a break. A time out where I can rest, maybe. Can I set down my blackness for a minute? Can I take a break from being black and girl and me so I could breathe? I want to go home to where I never knew how much everyone on the outside wanted us to die. Bullet sounds were scary, but they never felt hateful. Painful, yes. Deadly, sure. But the boys and men shooting bullets in the dark didn't hate me any more than they hated themselves.