a communal activity.

a judge free space.

a guilty pleasure,

a real live, real life, Real Housewives of Melanin being broadcasted

in a living room, a group text, a 3 way phone call,

in the corner of the club, under a streetlight near an afterhours.

a muffled laugh, a sneer, a yelp in disbelief. a whisper.

a kettle brewing. it’s hot tea…a shade of reality that we bask in,

the light is lackin’ and we like it. at least a little bit.

it’s with my co-workers, my friends, my sisters, my bitches.

it’s just gossiping.

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