its strange how i feel now
how writing enough down
makes my face feel less heavy
and my body shake slightly
i feel a bit chilly
and i feel a bit silly
but theres a fan im ignoring
and its 3 in the morning
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
My mother is my seamstress,
lapping around a genetic retail store,
she had 23 chromosomes to spend.
Knitting freedom’s peach fuzz fabric over the inseam of muscles,
cross stitching stereotypes of blonde thread into the pores of a rounded scalp,
hot-gluing privilege into blue eyes,
kneading the molds of a thigh gap between legs of the race that would shame its way to superiority.
I am white.
My mother was my seamstress,
she made sure the licks of discrimination didn’t scar my back.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC