Archive | June 2017

colonial aspirations

img_20150515_112943-e1498594838601.jpgyou crave that whiteness…
work hard for it.
bank checks on it.
risk our story with it.

clean white sheets to hide inside. to smell and taste that life without consequence; that purchasing power spent on the backs of those you cannot see; that upward mobility breaking spines you cannot hear. because you deserve nice things. because you deserve everything. theirs. to fill your mouth up with desire and swallow it into the void they made to keep and tame you. do not choke. their whiteness will not care. they do not see you. not like i do. i will sow ambivalence into your ambition.

our brownness smudges you with reminders of repercussions. pulsing like drumbeats in your throat. thundered storms. the roars of our memories leave you weak with a knowing that gives you strength; it is hard to bear. that thirsty want of knotted knuckles from a hard day’s work making you so tired. i know. i know. trust. do not let go. stop resisting that struggle you rather turn your back on. so you can lie back with that white cocoon pressed against you so smooth you might just slip inside its hollow unnoticed. and let go of us. her lack cannot quench your want. it is an empty purity of stolen lives. masked. her sweetness a veil made of your grandmother’s bones; of bodies bludgeoned and left swinging by scandals smiling coyly and manufactured apologies served a decade late and stale with pretense.

white legs coiling around your neck. her pleasure is thin and cold. releasing you with a wrongness that is not yours. theirs. they will kill you. whispering white delusions in your ear. their breezy dreams make our night terrors. i no longer sleep. i lie awake. their fantasies curdle into sour lies on the heat of our copper skin and spill off the truth of our curves.

my sharp corners poke at you. her round tears dull you. my dark stares leave you bare. her white gaze obscures you. you lie half asleep with sticky eyes too groggy to feel. numb. wake up! i know i am angry. my pain is thick and hot. it is the rightness of rage. i know i am loud. it is the hysteria of being hushed. standing in my flooded body. i know i am stubborn. it is a strength born of stillness. i have learned to cry over the rush of white noise.

we belong in the crossroads where all the arteries bleed. they take you to idle down back alleys. i will not follow. listen. walk away. forward and back to us. ache for the oneness amidst our resistance; heal from the desire of their condition. aspire to struggle not to settle.