Poetry

I’m Not Good, I’m American

I’m not a good person, I’m an American.
I ate cashews with glee
until the soft crunching tasted
like little brown fingers
salted. I don’t eat them now.
my clothes are blood.
my sKIN/care is blood
my furniture is Poison, dipped
in Blood.
I’m no good.
I look at white men and see…

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