Hello. This is not a college essay, it’s a very small article that I need help polishing up. I basically taught myself English so I am sure this has a lot of grammatical mistakes (and possibly improper vocabulary) so would love any help in improving it and making it more…formal and polished? I think? I really need to improve my English before I head off to college 
I’ve only been in the states for 9 months.
There it is:
"#1
I am a little not okay. I always loved people who can accurately articulate a thought that I truly believed only belongs to me, a perfect articulation of my head; invasive and rude, a fantastic way to not give someone the space they pretend to need. It’s a gift, truly. Understanding people is a gift. There are people like me who keep their understanding to themselves and who actually love to feed egos, they tiptoe around the feelings of those with a broken self esteem and an ostensible repair at the expense of their own. I wholeheartedly want someone to give me the rare pleasure of having someone KNOW me; it is usually followed by an inevitable frustration, because I am not a book that intends to be read, but I just need to know someone IS reading and not just glancing at the cover. I need that, as powerful as needing something is.
2
I’m a little not okay. I know I said I’m excellent earlier, when my face was caked in sunshine and my smile glowed a little. I’m a little not okay, I can say I’m not excellent, but that makes me good, and I can say I’m not good, but that makes me okay, but I’m not even that. I’m a little not okay. Maybe my legs are not as sunshowered as yours, and maybe my mom covers her hair and yours does not, but my mom acknowledges the fact that one can kill a human with words and yours clearly does not; your dad, yeah, your dad pulled out a gun at a car full of oneiric Muslims and I felt my heart sink to my toes as he shouted to us to get the fuck out of his neighbourhood. After that day, I told my mother to take off her hijab, and discomfort squeezed in between us and morphed itself into a cross-legged lump of silence in our throats. She said no. My mind has been the torment of my existence since then. The following morning, though, I had such good coffee and I was wired and strong. I also still ended my sentences with endearments, my lovelies.
3
I’m a little not okay. A few weeks back, a man heard a plethora of laughter and thought it necessary to interrupt. His aura stepped closer, and I felt it threatening to attack, because my mother still had her veil adorning her. My looks gunned him down as he made his way to our table and he broke the silence of my stare with eight simple words: this is nice, you guys look so happy. I smiled. I was happy. He then proceeded to say to my mother: you have a beautiful daughter, does she have a boyfriend?. I laughed. I laughed. I laughed. I felt fear standing resolutely at the back of my head and a great sense of pride clambering across my face and I got up and gave the man a hug. A sense of relief climbed on my heart. But when I went home and laid down, an uneasy feeling slit right through me: I grow up growing less. That same feeling that made the cruel man from #2 pull out his gun, made me turn on my axis of fear and my trembling knees. I am just as bad, if not worse, for being as brainwashed as he was. What a shameful waste of time is this hate we infuse inside of us. I am not beautiful. "