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She Wish She Was a Nigga


ISSUE:  Summer 2017

 

It is easier for people to think I wanted
a dick swinging between my legs.

It makes more sense that way instead of the
facial hair that came at the same time

the periods did. I taught myself
what most men teach their pre-

pubescent sons—how to shave against
the grain. I spare most the memory of

the doctor who insisted that carrying the weight
of myself times myself would surely kill me.

The boy cousin I grew up with settled on girls
big & black like me for a hot meal & shelter—

somewhere to lay his head when no
one else would be bothered. & I guess

that’s the crux of love— how to love
the oddity of yourself into shelter when

no one else will be bothered. Somehow
people believe I chose this body—

this chaotic chemistry.
They are only half right.

I bet she wish she was a nigga

Is a relic of what the world
does to what it cannot explain.

& what exactly is a nigga or a woman anyway
if not something or someone that has survived?

 

 

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