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