I must need new boys to text, but thank god
for heath insurance. I haven’t brushed my hair in days and,
finally, I had to take the scissors to my hair, cut away
all the knots. I have this dirty habit of smiling at strange men
as they call to me from across the street,
make sure I leave them with the good strong image
of my hips swinging. Everything is a hangnail,
or a pile of laundry waiting to be done. I go to parties
and it feels like everyone glows in the dark.
It’s so weird because I curse in front of my mother
and she laughs and says finally and gives me
money for rent, food, whatever. I don’t eat,
just sit on the porch and smoke cigarettes
and watch boys go to class and press my thighs together.
I look at prices for laser hair removal, bikini waxes,
organic manicures. The smell of silk makes me weep.
Walking alone at night is a lot like how being black feels.
But I put that away, I don’t talk about it, because shit.
Y'all got enough of our blood spilling into the street.