Hair Strand HandsThe hand is a hair strand
upon the black mechanic
who articulated a nation
from candle wicks and ash.
Puerto Rican, Asian
The Original American,
Who is seen as White as a sheet of paper.
Who cannot dance or talk of deep things.
White has been sealed into a vacuum, wispy like vapors.
Someone who's just a color and has a culture of nothing.
White, not caucausian. White like the crayon that no one uses.
White, one dimensional, trivial, and ultimately superficial.
From what I have heard, White is the winner that never loses.
The ultimate opponent, the one no one can touch, it's become conditional.
As a White woman, I "must" be better.
You probably think I sit and write high and mighty.
Rocks in Shoes Hurt the MostIt's the little things that embed into the skin that give us the most pain.
The tones and phrases that constitute affection or disapproval.
Slight flick of the tongue to turn a conversation one hundred and eighty degrees.
Bodies speak more than words do, spilling what you really think.
Arms pressed to your sides, toes pointed nowhere, eyes staring at my own toes.
Glance at everything that moves, focusing on everything but me.
Are the tiny blots of black really the windows to the soul?
Can that camera tell me what you’re thinking?
What your eyes notice and concentrate on is the true answer.
Your whole being, each aspect is like a lett
Part-Time HookerI inhale smoke and dirty thoughts
(sleeping with a waste-of-calories
with no sex appeal. her heart
the volume of
smell increases as it's
getting hotter than a
fever heat - I don't mind her
cold hands around my --
burnt out lights make a
silhouette; film this on
screen - like a dream
you can watch. - or hear
but she doesn't scream -
her bones suffocate me
as she's wrapped around
my body - stiff, cold, dry.
sleeping with a waste-of-calories
with no sex appeal. her heart
doesn't beat. )
Until I can't breathe.
Haunted, Chapter 1: AwakenHaunted
I felt the patter of rain on my face, the rumble of thunder, darkness all around. My mind was dozed, unable to concentrate, content with the cool rain falling on me, I didn’t want to wake up, the darkness was comforting, like a dream. Lightning fell and the world set ablaze, I opened my eyes wide, feeling the predator instinct rise from deep inside me, like I was after someone, something. I was lying in a pool of mud in a dark wilderness, church bells rang in the distance. I stood up as the rain and lightning intensified like a storm growing hungry. I couldn’t recall where I was or how I got there,
Jarred Open As usual, there were too many things to distract me, with silk and silver gleaming everywhere, inviting me just as their vendors’ eyes warned me away. My mission to buy bread was soon forgotten, and, as usual, was quite busy being shooed away by large-nosed shop owners, who smelled no gold on me. But that didn’t stop the market place from being a magic one.
That’s when I saw the tent. It was an ordinary tent, half hidden by the mob of people, sagging as if it wilted with the leaves under the dying sun. Nearby, silver spectacles glinted gold in the faltering light. The eyes behind them were inviting ones, and c