I Am Not Your Jungle Fever Fantasy

I Am Not Your Jungle Fever Fantasy

I Am A Glorious African Queen

I feel their white gaze bore

into my brown body;

and I ask,

Who am I to them?

Jungle fever, full lips, thick hips twerking and trap queens.

They love my culture,

live my culture,

fetishize my culture.

African Queen

they called me;

Did you live in a hut?

Did you run wild with tigers and elephants?

There are white people in Africa?

You learned English so well.

All they’ve ever seen

are kids on the TV screen;

starving brown children

with gaunt bellies and chapped lips

while a white man or woman gives them

a hug and a smile,

hoping their Western

generosity will feed

their hearts instead.

Why do you only date white men,

why do you talk so white,

why do you live in such a rich neighborhood

instead of with your own people

you Lincoln Park dark,

Are you racist?

The Nile river runs through my veins

My heart as free as the desert plains,

If I find myself crying whenever it rains,

or I see my soul swirling down the bathtub train,

then you can tell me I don’t love my people.

Then you can say I don’t love the way

my melanin glows in the sunlight

and gives the white gaze a fright.

Then you will see

that I am not ashamed,

not afraid,

I am acclaimed.

I am worthy,

I am glorious,

I am me.