Can’t Run the Race

I don’t want to know her; not because we are a different race, but because I lack the desire to run the risk of going outside “my box”, only motivated by the fact that I don’t want to admit I have become what I despise. When I look at her I am angry because I know the only reason she wouldn’t give me a chance is because I am not her race! I label her choice “racism” and mine “preference”. She is no where near my type, but I am attracted to proving that she is wrong about me; I am attached to being proof my race is worthy of hers. Not once did I think she has dated men in my race, and is just not attracted to me. Hahahaha the vanity; that thought just makes me believe if she did, “he” wasn’t like me, a street savvy dude from Harlem who’s poverty stricken and battle tested. Instead, he was a middle class uncle tom cat that shared her values and views. Were did race go? now, I’m talking about cultural and economic factors. It isn’t me, it’s her adding to my attraction by having me lost in translation! I don’t like any thing about her face, body type, definitely not complication! Damn, could I really be attracted to her face, body type, and complication because I am on a train with so many people that fit her description, and she stood out. It has to be placement! Yep yep, She happened to be in the right place to catch my attention. Oh, I had to look past a few to key in on her. I refuse to admit it, but I have no choice. I am too insecure to pursue her beauty, so I turned her into a beast! I hate myself.