#kyle lopez

A mother labored for hours to birth a flesh question mark misshapen for bodily exit. It grew to a napkin scrawl, a notebook scribble, and eventually an ink blot on bibulous paper. Called itself 'I.'

What I am matters less than what I surely am not. Person equals filed neatly, understood. I equals ink splotches on white cards meaning no

(Because my black) (Because my blood) (Because no cruelty should cross me) (Because the entire goat is consumed) (Because the entire chicken is consumed) (Because Azealia’s chicken closet is better known) (Because the Sublime song “Santeria” is better known) (Because santeras are my tías) (Because santeras pray for me)

I want to understand what splits one rich white man from another, why we need progress to tiptoe like it’s sneaking from a cell, who made a husband a tourniquet for a centuries-long bleed out.

I'm perfectly mentally stable (these are not even all the builds I made for this man)