social starving
this jambalaya has been filet mignon in the hood
but they serve theirs with red wine sauce
while they serve yours with blood
the jollof from our funerals tastes so good-
grasp the pulpy matter of three day old dinner
snack on gallows humor, dine as silence consumes her
your skin sheds off voluntarily
you'd rather bleed than be made another's meat
no one wants to just be lunchables
but your too-coarse hair makes you a one-course fare
you rarely glare at yourself to see the black they've been so hungrily pursuing
you realize you are now a black woman and not just a black girl when
you look out to a sunset,
it is black so few find it beautiful
it's unconventionalism is so disputable
and you realize to be black is to be peculiar enough for discussion
they rush and revel at the sky above us