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Jemima Mitra Sep 2019
I walk in and three heads turn around
They look me up and they look me back down.
It’s like they’ve never seen a brown girl
On this side of town.

It makes me uncomfortable enough
To want to walk back out that door
But then again I’m in Beverley
And dressed like a bit of a *****.

It seems I’m the only brown girl
Here for another mile
So walking into a pub
Kinda feels like I’m standing on trial.

Their eyes meet mine
But they do not smile
Their looks feel cold
As if they’ve just been told

A dodgy secret about me
And they’re trying to suss out if it’s true.
Even though you hold my hand as we walk through
I feel a distance between me and you.

You tell me that they probably think I’m pretty
But why is it that I suddenly feel ******?
It didn’t look like admiration in their eye
But I brush it off with a sad sigh

I don’t bring it up for the rest of the night
But if looks could bite
These men could’ve given me rabies
But now you’ve rattled me with maybes

‘Cos maybe they want me to have their babies
(Which is a gross enough thought in itself)
But no, I pull my suspicions from the shelf
I can’t deny the wary nature of myself

Because maybe it’s a subtle stealth -
Beer by beer a racist’s inhibitions fall
My brown skin a matchstick
To their flammable racist shawl

I avoid their eyes
But feel their’s burning into my back
I am on edge and ready
Waiting for their attack.

But in the same breath
I am showered with compliments
Some of your friends tell me I’m beautiful
And that they’re glad we’re suitable.

I’m in a pub - I shouldn’t be feeling perpetual doom!
I try to focus but he still stares at me from the bar
He’s at the other end of the room
Yet it doesn’t feel all that far.

People talk to me but I barely hear
What is being said
Because a new question runs
Through my pretty brown head

It clouds my judgment
And leaves my view distorted:
Does he think I'm pretty
Or does he just want me deported?
Jemima Mitra Sep 2019
Amber flames lick moonlight off your forehead
Upon your beating chest I lay my bed
Your fire warms the jade stones trapped in your eyes
You swallow dark grey skies with your sunrise

And sometimes you will unleash your turquoise
In small dripping jewels I will lick the noise
To dry your face and speak against the storm.
Soon enough you return to feeling warm.

Red dwarf darling, you will blister my heart
Constellations on your back from the start
Have seduced and held hostage my fingers

This love that we share is one that lingers
A supernova shining for a while
Erupting through with your crooked teeth smile.
Jemima Mitra Sep 2019
I miss the                    
                sober you
And the things that we used to say
                                                     and do.
                              I miss the sunny days
Before we went our separate ways.
I miss
            my friend
And the messages
                                      we’d send,
The things you’d teach me -
                  Like how to make a perfect cup of tea
You figured George Orwell knew best
                       But I wasn’t
          as easily impressed.

You text me out of the blue
                                                      at 3am
Then don’t seem to
                         text me again
You’re already turning to
                                              a half-
formed ghost.

A staggering

                              at the very most.

I wonder why you bother with me:
              What is it that I’m doing wrong that I can’t see?

You’re there                    
                                   and then
                                                                ­      you’re gone,
A fading,

A few            
                   more pints of beer
And suddenly      
                        you’re right                            
                                                                ­     here;
Our conversations are back too
                              But what ever happened to sober you?

                     you showed up when I didn’t expect you to
I didn’t need to guess,                      
                                 I already knew
                       Your face was
                                             drooping, your eyes glazed
              so common                              now                                 ­                                                                 ­     
                                      that  I’m                
­ no longer fazed.

Why do you only talk to me
                    when you’re ****** up?
                                   Why does this feel like a *******

                     And I miss you            
                                                 ­ so much;
I miss my close friend

                    Why won’t you tell me
                                           What led to sober you’s end?

                   there is something

                                            that I can do

                        To bring back the very
                     ­                                     best version of you?

— The End —