Dear Diary,

I'm. Mad.

No excuse me that's not what I meant to say-
I meant to say I'm pissed off.

But listening to someone like me at this day and age you think I'm gonna talk about...
Discrimination, huh?
Hit the nail on the head, didn't I?
You probably think I'm one of those kids screaming from the corner,
"Kill Zimmerman"
Or "Free Lil Boosie"
Like I talk like a gangsta all tha time, got a hunna in tha bank 
Cause I must have a pimp or rapper boyfriend huh?
I mean, you probably think my closet is filled with hoochie shorts and some strapless shirts
Cause I stole some of my mama's clothes.
You think I get high like the crackheads on my street and pass my goals and dreams on the way to La-La Land.
You picture me drinking away the empty memories with my father in the night,
While trying to take care of two kids by two baby daddies.
You're comfortable with seeing that huh?
Cause if one black girl looks like this, well we all like it huh?
Let a white man get drunk and you don't hear people whispering,
"Those white people."
You hear, "He must be Irish."
But you let a black man take a little sip of Henny and 
He's a monster.
He must be beating hiss wife at home, and hitting his children,
Like every other black man.
Well no, I'm not mad about any of that.
I'm mad because...

Because...

I'm mad because my parents won't buy me a laptop for Christmas
There I said it!

Unlike what you're used to seeing, I get good grades. 
I'm in the top quarter of my class.
I don't play basketball, I play hockey.
I study at nighttime when my friends are smoking and drinking.
I speak properly. Slang is not in my vocabulary.
I am full African American and damn I'm proud of it!

Surprised? 

Cause it would scare me if you were.