The Color Purple Monologue

I used to hate the image staring back at me in the mirror. The figure that stood in front of me had skin as black as night. Skin that remind her peers of slavery and always was the butt of the jokes. I was just a little girl when I learned how to be ashamed of myself.
It started at home when my uncle, who was as dark as me, would compare me to his lighter children. He would go on for hours about how dark my skin was. He wouldn’t stop until someone around him said that it was enough. The thing was he had learned to hate himself, just as much as I did. He saw me as an outlet to let out all the pent-up anger and hurt out. The jokes didn’t stop at him and a matter of fact they got worse with age. They got worse with age because not only was I
No words were able to come out of my mouth. Instead, there was a series of questions that came from her. She wanted to know why I was cutting myself;why I hadn’t come to her; and how long had it been going on. I told her that I was unhappy and ashamed of my skin. We sat in the car for about two hours talking and crying. I realized how much my actions affected other people. I also realized that the skin I live in will never change. My skin isn't anything that I should be ashamed of. On that day, I promised myself that I would never cut again. In order to keep that promise to myself I started a diary. Anytime I felt like cutting or felt down, I would write. After having the heart to heart with my mother, I realized I needed to make some life changes. I started by surrounding myself with positive people. I need to be around those who had ambitions. The friends I used to keep were more worried about social and boys that their education came last. Also decided to hang around people who looked like me. It is hard for people to understand the shame I felt about myself if they haven’t gone through it. I needed to be around those who had felt the same shame but have prospered because of it. It sparked curiosity in me to learn more about my