Confess three secrets that you barely even admit to yourself.
He hid among us like Wheres Wally?, He disguised himself so well you would think he was your uncle, grandfather, brother, father or your neighbor.
I played the mind game and copied and paste reality with fiction, then fantasy with mystery. I manufactured a jigsaw puzzle with reality.
When my consciousness collapsed, defeated and speechless, Wally found me and played patty cake with my vagina.
He robed me as fast as he could, drank my fathers scotch and thanked him with a jokers smile.
Wally whispered in my ear and told me that he will see me again soon, very soon.
I day dream of the darkness, then the bright light and sitting with my father.
My mouth waters, I lick my lips and mmmmmmm at the thought of death.
The idea of getting out of mans bondage makes the stench of my rotting flesh easier to bear. I’m sure I’m not the only one with thoughts of death.
I’m embarrassed by them, sometimes, ok yes just plain shame.
They hate their black heritage , they tried to whiten the blue print of our family tree.
They convinced the girls of bettering the family by fornicating with the white man.
“Stay if he batters you it will be over soon” and “if he steps all over you he will one day see how good you are as a wife” but “please make sure you conceive”.
Your children must be white, you are faire skin, “don’t you see all the opportunities that you get”, “look how far you have come”.
My first racist experience, happened within the cultural tradition of my family.
What a shame.