drink some more coffee, the next slave like phone call is only a minute away. avoid the white person telling you what to do. the fucking manager who gets paid to be less human. the fucking manager that gets paid to intimidate you and threaten to seperate you until you actualy separate. Jesus loves you and your alcoholic jail-ridden baby daddy. He said he loved you once, and that was good enough for you. Base your self-confidence on a level of seperation that is almost unbearable. But I choose to seperate myself, what a mother fucking lie.
love me and my stretch marks, lying around like rips in a golden butter BLACK smooth mess. the old white man looks at me, and my marks start to twinkle. will he twinkle, when he lies next to me, or will he remember everything that his childhood told him was wrong. will he dwell in the downward spiral that's so convenient when you're born near the top. will he entertain me with stories that I only pretend to relate too?