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b for short Aug 22
“To us, white girls are exotic,”
says my Arab American boyfriend.
At that moment, my brain ceases
to make sense of those words
in that order.
Exotic? White? Girl?
Me? Me. He means... me.
So this is what I say
to my Arab American boyfriend
who has
more culture in his pinky
than all of white America combined.
From what I can tell,
to be white in America is
boring static,
AM radio on a Sunday morning
with a broken dial
on a back road in the boonies.
It is the culture born by everything borrowed but wrongfully claimed
as its own invention.
To be white, in America, tastes like
cream of wheat
with no hope of brown sugar.
It is a tumbleweed-kind-of-rootless
and just as desert dry.
It is colorless, odorless, tasteless—
and will choke you slowly
if you don’t build up a tolerance.
But
if you’re lucky enough
to be white in America,
for about a hundred bucks
and a swab of the cheek,
the Internet can tell you
where you came from.
Even if that makes you feel cultured,
tomorrow you will wake up
and still be
white in America.
To be white in America, I thought,
was as far from exotic
as the self-loathing, middle aged guy
behind the counter
at your local DMV.
But white girls, he says, are exotic.
Perhaps it’s because pumpkin spice
oozes from my pasty pores,
or that “there ain’t no laws
when you’re drinkin’ the Claws.”
Maybe he couldn’t resist the fact
that the Starbucks barista
knows my order
better than my name,
or that my hair blowdries pin straight—
no matter the time of year.
I wonder if it’s the combo of
black leggings, messy buns,
and work out tanks—
or the fact that I think I’m saving the whole ******* sea turtle population
with my stainless steel straw.
Exotic?
Maybe it’s my compulsive nature
to buy in bulk, to pet every dog I see,
and to cry over Queer Eye episodes.
It couldn’t possibly be
the steady diet of rom coms,
my collection of Birkenstocks,
or the apple cinnamon candle
burning on my windowsill
that reminds me of “fall y’all,”
but then again, who knows?
To me, my whiteness is a privilege
that will forever be misinterpreted
as entitlement by every person
who checks that “white” box
on the form
without checking themselves too.

“To us, white girls are exotic,” he says.

White girl is just happy
he likes her in spite of it.
Copyright Bitsy Sanders, August 2019
To follow her is to
Twist and turn through life

Attempt to squirm free
And once more
her exotic scent
captivates you

At least your suffering
Is keen and intense

Every physical contortion
Only constricts her hold

Most predict despite
Numerous gyrations
The end will be catastrophic
*Merriam-Webster word for the day, April 24, 2019
Badshah Khan Feb 11
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 41

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

Who can not bear the infinite pain of eternal love!

He can not reap the exotic fruit of eternal love!

Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
Kiara Hoxie Jan 6
The child holds in their hand a stunning flower
Beautiful, exotic and rare
They pull the glowing flower apart in a colorful shower
The soft, velvety petals rip and tear
Fluttering slowly to the ground
The bright pieces stand out against the gloomy floor
No one can hear the flower's silent screeching sound
Of being ripped from the core
The wind blows the fading petals into the dark abyss
The child tosses the stem aside, and skips away in bliss
Hey ****
Are you small
Can you fit
Can you find a comb that fit
Can you last a long time

Hey ****
Can you satisfied me
EP Robles Sep 2018
I am the sea. I am the clouds.  And the dirt you carry within your dreams.  i am the pain.  i taste the blood.  Even though it’s 2 o’clock in the mourning and time to go home.  To the nothings and the peculiars of an emptiest life.
   i am the child who once painted lipstick
on a pet / the grimmest hour I stood alone /  i wanted to die / and now i’ve grown up without the hope of a warmer house I could call my life ||
i am the tea.  i am the cup.  Of no particular taste and i want to throw up / and it’s always the last one who calls me hon / you should get a better life. |||

:: 09-06-2018 ::
None required.
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