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Thanksgiving.
I want to erase my white skin, replace it with the color of clay, remind myself everyday that my ancestors were not here first.
Brothers and sisters, I am ashamed of my blood. My blue eyes make me sick. My reflection is genocide to you.
My skin means murder, and I can’t change it.
We were monsters before Hitler was conceived, and I can’t change it.
I am sorry, and I can’t change it.