To The Girl Who Will Play Me In the Movie
| know this—you better be i’m talkin weevils in the cornbread plastic bag full of other plastic bags vaseline cures all that ginger ale & garlic on the feet cannot be called fast before you could feel desire mama smack you in the mouth for suckin your teeth white boys want a piece of you but can’t handle your politics be beautiful be loud be as the moon & the sun when they cross each other be do we got beef be you got a problem i wouldn’t even mind if you was a little bad girls club be disappear into the midnight be never returning his calls be too bad and too boujee be boys from suburbia wanna corrupt you and they will know this—the boys from suburbia will steal everything they tongue down & when those lights come up on whatever soundstage you are being me on, your skin, or what’s left will shimmer like the dust of diamonds where their greedy hands peeled back your apprehension & pillaged your want be well aware of them. do not love them do not let them meet your parents do not tell them you can’t have children do not become their first anything. you will never be their last be their worst nightmare, though. the absence, premature & canyon-like, he wanted to leave instead of you be laughing at silly ass white boys and their feelings & when you say goodbye to HIM, the one who birthed it all be as a bullet carelessly tossed to the Mississippi air belonging to him only so long as he bleeds. |
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