can you imagine being Black and mentally ill
if your fanbase is large and loud,
if your world is dark and handsome,
if youâre comfortable occupying one hand
with black ink or pixels
salvaged from the sap of which your words find life,
while the edges of your other hand fingers deep away
the brown of moist bark on which we hang:
âI am a strong white female,
and you -
you, are rotting away.
I turn the subtle green leaves above your head
to gold
or red
to match the bloody carpet flowing beneath us.
I will scream louder, harsher, sexier than the slapping of your giant Black dick
across your work-horse thighs.
And if anyone asks,
Iâll say it was my voice
Like the wind
Commanding your tiny, dirty penis to wave goodbye
To all victims of your
Serendipity. I am the new Aphrodite. And you are my unsatiated muse.â
We beg, and beg, and beg of you,
in your language
to leave us, hanging dry and deadâ
weâll shrink, and crawl, and speak French massa, and proper English too,
and cry, cry our entitled fears away,
til the blood-soaked earth beneath our feet gives way to peace, and harmony,
in your name,
This is the house of Usher,
And dirt looks better on us, anyway