Skip to main content

Dirty Black Girl

I am sure in some part of the world I exist as a sin. 
Some kind of mistake. 
I exist only as all the rules I've broken and all the places I've refused to fit. 
I'm sure some one calls me a whore. 
I'm sure another calls me a kaffir. 
I'm sure someone calls me a heathen. 
Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. 
Dirty black girl. 
with no morals. 
Look at how she swings her hips existing only to tempt me. 
Look at how she speaks. So eloquent. Does she think she could be white? 
Smart enough to sit with the boys? 
Look at how she knocks back those shots, Look at all those men she touches. 
Look at how she doesn't hide? 
Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. 
Nasty Black Whore. 

Does she know shame? 
Shameful dirty nasty little black whore. 
Cover yourself. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Day 2. A Letter to my crush

Dear Crush, I don't want to write this. This letter would remind me too much of how we began in endless possibilities and ended in Nothing.  I've got a thing for boys who read books, speak multiple languages and smell good. You are all of those. But it seems I've also got a taste for men with no taste for me. Do I taste dull? Do I taste stale while you taste like candy floss? Soft and sweet but so incredibly unhealthy. So incredibly unhealthy how many times you want to be just friends while your hand is in my pants and there's tequila in my breath. I use to think you were awesome and it makes me sad to watch your light flicker the faster I run away. I wanted to be friends. But you lied. I can't stand lies. Not when I'm giving you all of myself. I can't stand lies. Not when I'm giving all of myself. _ Nothing
2 comments
Read more

Two Letters and a Sad Story

She’ll do anything not to remember when they were together because it hurts too much to remember. So she sat down and wrote two letters. First she wrote about the love they shared. She wrote it all, from the first time she saw him to the moment he left to the weeks after. How he is everywhere, because they were everywhere. Even in her favourite restaurant and tub of bar one ice cream. It ends with “how do I live without him?” She burnt it. The second letter is Simple. “I don’t know happiness. I knew you. I’m sorry” They found it rumpled in her back pocket when they cut her body loose. 
2 comments
Read more

A love letter to my home village Kasane.

Dear Favorite place.  I'm coming home in december.  It has been four years but  I remember the way the green of the north is different from the green of the south.  The air is cooler up there right at the corner of Botswana.  My dad called today and said " Hi pumpkin, I'm in the middle of nowhere right in that corner of Botswana"  and I knew he was almost home.  And I know its 1000 Kilometers of not quite so tarred road.  And just 45 minutes of flight away.  But I'll take the long way.  So I can see it outside my window as I get closer.  You see just after francistown you can't really tell.  But right after Nata the worst part of the road you can tell you're in the Chobe.  You can smell it in the air. You can see it in that northern Green you Don't get anywhere else.  And you can see it in the white sands.  By now the elephants have come to play.  I can always tell ...
Post a Comment
Read more