An open letter to men who hate black women

sometimes, i wonder why lifetreats me the way it does.being black or being a young woman or being a teenageris already hard enough,but imagine all those three combinedwith the cherrybeing that, for reasons unknown,you despise me.in your eyes, the black woman istoo ghetto, too hood,too loud, too ratchetand not enough for you.except for when you’re drunk.then, my body and my life become a gameand when you inevitably have time to killi am the first in line.you say it’s “just a preference,” yetconstantly go out of your way to tear me down,calling me disgusting, unlovable,undesirablesimply for existing.