The energy of sadness from St Louis crept into my room
And straight into my heart
Aja Monet on repeat
Trying to write out these scars
The pain goes deep
I wonder how we can ever be happy here again
I wonder if we will ever get back our own land
If we can’t get back the lost life.
These recent actions are not appreciated
I know you better
Than they do.
What you call “showing love” is not actually to show it for me,
Or too make me feel good,
Playing it to the public that everything is all good,
While I still have your hateful emails of unedited threats
Saying you’ll expose my body to the fucking internet
I’ll never let you manipulate me to be ashamed of my East African beauty,
You tried so many times to make me believe I was prideful and ugly for it.
While in the public cheaply praising our African Woman for being strong
I thank my Ethiopian ancestors for keeping me strong
Igzee’abihier Yimmesgen, its what we sing in our songs.
You do these fake actions to show others, that you’re a, “good person”
So you can have a mask to hide behind when you are ready to play victim again
Real eyes recognize the reblogs as politics in disguise.
While your toys continue to send me hate mail
Trying to tell me, I should let Facebook see MY body
Which lets me know you are still at it with your disgusting manipulation
Of peoples understanding of you.
You lie so much
You have started believing
In your own shit.
My next tears will be for your next victim,
I’ve given you too many of the diamonds that leak from my eyes
You’d think a man like him would be rich by now,
But he’s the type who throws his undeserved treasures away
Foolishly mistaking them as trash.
Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.
You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.
You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.
You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.
For how long have you thought it was okay to play with the heart
of an unbreakable Black Woman who had scars before you came along?
I don’t care how emotionless the masked player is
Everyone meets their karma
If you have blood, you will bleed.
It is to your disadvantage you do not learn from it to avoid the same wrath
Of your own doings
I cannot pity so many self inflicted egotistical scars
Do not ever compare them to mine.
How dare you think you can take control of me
You were birthed from a Black Woman
You were given Life
Such power that brought you here,
Have you forgotten the same force can take you away?
You made a mockery of yourself
When you abused this.
There’s only so many times you can fake love
Before its recognized as an ugly truth.
May be too deep
To get out of
When the darkness
You go no further.
Thank you <3