When my fingers curl into fists
Imagining your neck is between them,
Does that mean I hate you?
When the tears I shed
Because of words you said
Go unnoticed,
Is that because I see a river
Where you see a desert?

You crawl like a lizard up my back
And spit in my face
With your nasty little tongue.
Then leave me hung
Surrounded by spectators
Like the racist you are
And walk away
Like the sorry excuse for a biped
That you are.

And though DNA tests would say
That you and I have matching blood
Coursing through our veins
And our peachy skin is chiseled
Almost the same way,
I don’t see the resemblance.

In your mind,
I am out of place, harvesting cotton in pre-Civil War
Southern America.
In my mind,
You are exactly where you are:
Struggling to construct sentences
That don’t make me question
Whether I hate you.

So keep talking
And see how far you can drown me
In your gluttonous and alcohol-stained spittle
Before I stop questioning
And give you a definite answer.