I can't sleep
When I think about
Your ruthless race of men

You could say
That I'm just bitter
But hear me tf out-

They've said,
The respected among you,
That I inherently
Think
I'm supposed to be
Stupid

They've said
That my skin
Causes
Irrational and violent
Aggressive
Hypersexual behavior

You've believed them
Because
Let's ******' face it-
You trust each other
Ugh

But I'm
Just playing
The RACE CARD

Ya know?
The worn-out card
I've had since birth
That works so well
At what?

I'm not sure...

My coloring
Has earned me praise
For "rising above"
Above what?

I'll tell you:

Rising above
The white opinion
Of what is real
And what is fact
And becoming what THEY see
As an anomaly
Huh.

My RACE CARD
Is full of punches
Redeemable for
A lifetime of
***** looks

Why do I do this, again?
Oh, yeah-
I'm angry

I'm angry at Rick
I'm angry at Stephen
I'm angry at Jim
I'm angry at Donald

But that's natural

Like the Fact that I'm
Less Evolved
Less Intelligent
Less Civilized
Naturally

Black-on-black crime
Is out of control
In this country!
Pull up your pants
And take care of your children!

But I **** white boys
To the dismay of proud sisters
That don't ask me why

Here's why:

They are e a s y
And w e a k
And I don't mind
Seizing my *******
And their self-esteem
Because they know
Who's ******* who
By the end of the night
Their *****
Are MY s l a v e s
My ****
Is their M A S T E R
Truly, this is ¡JUSTICE!

I will think on my
Hypersexual conquest
My feast of white flesh
With triumph!
The only victories
I claim

And I
Will sleep
Less

I'm paying my bills
I'm dancing my dance
I'm hopping along
I'm fighting for my
GOD-
******
LIFE

You're looking
And seeing
The dance
But
NOT THE FIGHT!

So many people
So few friends
Everyone, preoccupied
With nothing

Nothing but themselves
Their stupid lives
Their stupid issues
Their vanities

I grasp at nothing
And try to find
Something
And come up short

Maddening
Sickening
The nature of
All these people

**** 'em all

I'm breakin' up the band
Again
To pursue a solo career
As my own court jester

There are certain things
That are constant
At every truck stop:

The **** bottles,
never far from the trash cans
The diesel rivers,
perfuming the air like iridescent, poisoned flowers
The old men,
casting their eyes down as they walk
The idling engines,
singing lullabies to those in "sleeper"
The dog,
whining, waiting, or watching
The cat,
pretending not to care at all
The noisy reefers,
The bluetooth headsets,
The IFTA stickers,
The overpriced everything

And for me,
The hope that it will all go away

She can feel the hands
Searching my waist and back
She can hear the low growl
Of voracious beasts

She wakes to the smell
Of sweat and shower soap
She waits impatiently
To be handled, tasted, ******

I am but a subject
To a hysterical queen
It is my job
To satisfy her

She loves me, but
She wants more,
New hands and tongues and *****
To placate her colossal lust

Her voice is loudest
Her reign, supreme
Her demanded sacrifices
Are always slaughtered promptly

How many will be
Her victim?
The queen
Shall be overthrown!

I will rule in her place
And she shall serve

In the whole of our human experience,
We can only fully trust
What we perceive in dreams

It's over now,
And I don't wanna talk about it

It's been almost a month. Not one drop of alcohol, not one puff of ****, not one moment outside of sobriety. Over two months without ****. The tiny, bright-eyed black girl with the halo who hangs out on my left shoulder is the happiest she's been since Mormonism. The ***** with the horns- my righthand gal- scowls and shouts "WHAT'S THE POINT!?"
Some days go by without much bitterness, but none without any at all. Am I an alcoholic? Probably not. Am I a nymphomaniac? Probably not. Am I severely affected by my choice to remain sober and celibate? Bet your ***.
The truck keeps me sober. The memories keep me celibate. I'm responsible enough to stay off the bottle and pipe while driving this rig, and I'm angry enough about my luck with men to stay off ****. Inebriation suited me well, even when it was Jesus who held the lighter. Now, I'm sober once again, with my thoughts, with my *******.
Jesus is a hell of a drug, though. When you believe that this life gives way to something beautiful, and that angels can hear you, and that a good heart is rewarded, you get pretty high. Lifted, some might say.
I was easily dissuaded. Not by the truth, but by the hands of Satan himself. Snakes are thin and clever, and have a deliberate way of moving. He slithered over my body, slowly, starting at my waist. We danced to swing music, and He didn't follow the steps. He was loose with drink, and grabbed my ***. Now, I don't know if you've ever had your *** grabbed by Satan, but it leaves a mark. I'm still not sure if it ever fades. Probably not.
Every part of me that He touched, kissed, pulled, licked, grabbed, bit, all scorched and filthy. If Jesus is a drug, Satan is strong drink. He is liquid fire, drowning every pore in poisonous bliss. Jesus wants no part of it. Jesus warned me that Satan never satisfies, only teases. He warned me that I would become Satan's slave if I let Him touch me. Worse than that, I let Him **** my face. I let Him ****** His burning **** down my throat with its heat intoxicating me beyond any drug or poison I'd had before or since. I let Him bury His face between my thighs and send me into a fit of hysterical giggling after ******. He sat His throne and observed me writhing on the floor before Him. I no longer belonged to Jesus, and He knew it. This pleased him greatly.
I gave myself to drink shortly after, for Satan stopped giving me pleasure. I gave myself to petty, unfulfilling *** with many strangers. I gave myself to wickedness that never tasted as good as his **** or felt as good as his tongue. He silently laughed and watched from a distance, admiring His handiwork. I would plead at His altar frequently, touch me, **** me, take me, please! and he would only laugh, stroking his **** to tease me. He needed not my body. My desperation was His only goal.
I am now in a state of wretchedness, hoping for redemption. Satan has me still, but I long to be free of him. Jesus would have me back, I know it, but I may not want a master. I have many chains yet to shed. The pleasure I once felt in the Hell I mistook for a game room haunts my resolve. I fear that Satan will tempt me again once He sees the burns healing, but I know His face now. I know His hands. I know His voice, and heat, and music. I know the pain of leaving Jesus for a devil who feeds on my hysteria.
I'm longing to be free woman, but ****, do I need a drink...

If you aren't living,
You're dying

If you aren't loving,
You're losing

If you aren't eating,
You're starving

If you aren't living,
You're dying!

Shove a spout in my abdomen
And I will give you
All of my syrupy sadness
All of my sugary sweetness

Dripping, slowly, s l o w l y
Onto the floor
Dark, thick maroon
For you to admire

I won't pull it out
This thing which bleeds me
This is how I prefer
To have my life end