Black House

Yea, my brother’s rough around the edges

Life’s rough around these edges

You know, the peripheries

The margins

Remember, you cast us out

We’re the outsiders

So yes, we’re hardened

Survival hardens us

I don’t have time

to dye my armpit hairs blue

Our fathers are dying

Our brothers are leaving behind

daughters becoming mothers

are crying because

Sons are dying

I don’t have time

I’m keeping it together

Keeping it in

A strong black woman trying to keep a strong black home

Inter“section”al feminism?

So all we get is a fucking section?

Becky, I want the whole damn pie and not because I’m greedy, but my people are needy

Yes, we have needs like social equality and basic human decency

I don’t have time to wait for a slice of your pie

While my people experience a cultural genocide

I don’t have time

My brother just died.

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