(Art by Kara Walker)

He was told to “hurry home.” The smile from the woman pharmacist took him somewhere else. Her teeth were so white, he thought of sugar, wanted to lick them, among other things.

They smiled their goodbyes, giving him foolish confidence- the type that kills innocence.He stepped outside and felt the tingling of maturity- thoughts of attraction were directing him to be responsible and “HURRY.” to his destination. He walked with- hand clasping wrist,- holding the bag of medicine in place pushing, gently struggling to conceal his public indecency. Avoiding eye contact, he sat on a bench, hoping it’s coldness would be a distracting calm.

Thoughts rushing like blood, he placed his hand upon his head, as if it would suppress the confusion. He looked up and watched a crow, airing it out with a seagull. Black on white, even the birds know- he thought.
He wondered who was at fault. And fought hard to make himself believe, the black bird didn’t take whatever it was he was fighting for-he earned it. Knowing they were often chased away from earning their keep-so taking was a the better, foolproof option.

Fight on he mouthed, raising a fist to his chest, keeping his society a secret-even while alone, then glanced around, nervously to see who saw him.
Why the secrecy? If your skin matches, the world believes they have the right to control…And you may never, make it home.

I write to breath. I write to give. I write for happiness.

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