I wrote this for you

Bitter.

Milk and honey floating my back teeth.

Bleeding

From the aisles of my wrists.

You sip.

stare.

I swallow.

The kettle sings a misery.

You reach past me,

for the pantry

And I melt into my stomach.

Smirking She asks what shade is that,

Adding the cream to her coffee

You ask her to stop

Pouring

Over her shoulder she glances back

Why?

She doesn’t get the joke

She keeps going,

Pouring that is,

Until her cup is more cream than it is bitter.

Like, Like,

I don’t know just the right shade of

pecan tan you can turn before:

You are too dark to be desirable;

The number of days you can spend in sun

Before you start telling your white friends that you can’t swim;

You know your privilege

The power of your pigment.

The fascination is with #TeamLightskinned

just don’t have the right ring to it.

Get Out.

When your mother’s passing privilege

Earned you more playground & bus stop 3 o’clocks

Than you’d like to remember.

But you can fight though…and you will so…

Don’t try the pretty lightskinned long hair one

They’ll say at 13

Cuz X thru 12 you proved yourself a beast

A beast.

Right.

A blink.

I’m back.

Your shoulder is 100 lashes.

Your back, always a siren hallway in Versailles.

My feet sigh into your floor.

Honeystuck, stinging.

— Is this what it takes?

Even my sweat has turned sweetner.

Black coffee under your breath

You chastise me for my vaguenes.

— Stop being so damn obtuse, just say it.

A line of salt between our feet.

I choke back

A Mercy.

The doing stirs the syrup in my guts.

Swells the sugar in my throat.

— I’ll have to leave for cigarettes soon…

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