In Mokabees, just coming back from a shit. this one kinda hurt butthole on the way out, but i really wanted it out — i think my mind wanted to ease itself some & i became eager at the prospect of potentially having ANY of that hot dog out of my body — when i had that super wiener i definitely had the feeling “this shouldnt be here [in my body]”
Washing hands, in the mirror – as oft has happened in vulnerable times or “low points” – i look at my face with the classic mild surprise–and in the same manner as one may irrationally turn to suicide in the mind, i think to myself “this sux”; not my haggard face (my east coast face), not the circles or bags, the pockmarks nor moles, not even that i can never seem to do a thing with my hair — i see this brown skin, and in a rush of a moment when it feels like all of society’s -isms and -ists lurch at and onto me, i think, “this sux”
which is ridiculous–i do not suck nor does my skin or my hay-like hair–It is the effect of outward perceptions(?)
Ive come from loathing my reflection in the teenage years, to something of a solemn apathy
Too Queer to be “black”, to “black” to be anywhere, still black enough to die – silent stranger, arrested in the inbetween