on the unallowed vacancy of the black body
The speech of days in which the burden of existence within the thin thick skin of a black body does manage to distract you too much, anger you too hard, kidnap your thoughts and ability to make a working vessel that can navigate the flow of the mundane. I of the star, i of the sun, i of the unnamed beggar whose face brings me the traits of kings’ prides that scream in such pain that overwhelm that of his knees, his knees that i am sure have needed a lot of practice towards overcoming one’s humanity and be fixed this hard to the ground. Eyes of true hate that cannot be apparent, for to be able to see they need the pity of harmlessness - hands reaching out, as that is the only form they’re allowed to exist beyond the back of his head. But to not be him also demands the mastering of the fact that my existence might not be as worthy as that of other skins, even if there was an 18 karat layer of gold to protect it from the toxic radiation of whiteness - It is to hear the sweet memories of others’, without being able to let go the stollen humanity that became the pride of those who speak of it - it is to realize that the right to memory is a benefit of some, and a product of the silent destruction of those who cared for someone else’s child to have undoubted attributions of self worth and self esteem. I of the eyes that perceive contradiction as a mean of survival, for not doing so would lead me to the unending pleasures of their carefully idealised rat’s maze, full of empty rewards that feed nothing but poison into one’s brain. It is hard to be black as it is the most physical of things that can burn way beyond the walls of the material. I do feel hate, and it is profound, and i hate it, but i need it, for i prefer to retain the carefully stored potential energy of my never apparent explosions than any form of passive acceptance, specially when it comes in the form of brightly coloured bottles and shiny coats that are meant to bulletproof fear. Fear is a state of existence that drills every drop out of souls that can only dream of heaven. And this hate comes towards me as an old friend that hugs me into the comfort of reminding why i need no permit to my existence.
