Sometimes I feel that I am a bad Black girl because whenever my white girlfriend and I sift through Netflix Prime Video or anything with a reasonable trial period and she says “let’s watch this movie or that” featuring Black stories I instead elect to watch a white narrative because it’s nice to forget about racism and the teacher who called me a monkey and the no one who called him (Continue)

I have a friend who is so mad at the pandemic that he went on a six-day crack bender just to prove it “I’ve deleted the numbers of all my dealers as well as the man who changed my mind” he tells me His eyes reflect a me judging him for him and I am I have deleted numbers deleted apps food versions of my self myself “Also I saw your (Continue)

Steer clear of Adidas; obtain a degree in Dutch language and literature; wear my aunt’s glasses until I eventually need my own prescription; don’t eat fried chicken; proclaim I’m a fan of Michel Houellebecq; don’t go to a black hair salon; enrol in theological seminary; don’t listen to RnB; date a person blacker than me; date a person whiter than me; don’t eat watermelon; say I’m ‘accidentally black’ because my mother met my father while on vacation and I missed by only an inch the opportunity to be born to a white father who was a doctor, by the way; eat bananas only after I cut them into bite-size chunks that I eat with a fork, just to make sure I don’t remind anyone of a monkey; don’t listen to rap music; learn difficult words. (Continue)

A poem (Continue)