What of this obsession with the colonizer?
I jog my memory, I run the hard-drive of
my mind. My dad's voice ringing in my
six year old ears: Call her Safia so that
her name is not a tongue-twister.
Twisting whose tongue? Do I twist
their tongues now? Titillating,
tempting, triumphant, truce.
Sadistic seething. Sinister
satisfaction.
Desire me so that I can learn
to love myself. No. Lay your
hands on me so that this emptiness
is filled with something close
to the feeling of
an existence.
Wait.
Think about that. Without the
affirmation of your gaze, lust,
eyes on my soul shifting face
fleeting floating. I am stuck
somewhere between the void
and nothing.
Now tell me that colonization
brought boons? My bones
bereft of belonging.
Or maybe it is about possession
of power? For me. Pretty plight
pleaing to prey.
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