The Black Child
Being a black child, developing at a young age was
a set in stone prophecy.
A divine stage that was given by the men that saw it as a time for me to be
fruitful.
It was the uncles digging their fingers into my curves.
It was the grandfather forcing me to help him with basic movements.
It was cousins wanting to play house and practice what they saw their parents do in their bedroom.
Being a black child, 'sexual' was a personality trait before I said my first word. Before I could sing. Before I could dance.
Being a black child, protection did not exist.
YOU ARE READING
Of Citrus, Honey, and Melancholy ● Poetry ●
Poetry❝Part into me like an orange and make me spill over your fingertips.❞ ------------------------ An original collection of poetry and raw confessions about queer sexuality and pain. Please read at your own discrimination.
