They Call Me Black

They take my kindness for Weakness they take my silence for Speechless they consider my uniqueness Strange they call my language Slang they see my confidence as Conceit they see my mistakes as Defeat they consider my success Accidental They minimize my intelligence to Potential my questions mean I am Unaware ..My advancement is somehow Unfair to voice my concern is Discontentment if I stand up for myself I am too Defensive if I don't trust them I am too Apprehensive I am defiant if I Separate I am fake if I Assimilate ..My character is constantly Under Attack pride for my race makes me Too Black ..Lord Lord why did you make me black why did you make someone the world wants to hold back ? Black is the color of dirty clothes the color of grimy hands and feet Black is the color of darkness the color of tired beaten streets ?Why did you give me thick Lips a broad nose and kinky hair why did you make me someone who receives the hatred stare? Black is the color of a bruised eye when someone gets hurt who received the hatred stare ? How come my bones structure so thick the hips and cheeks so high how come my eyes are brown and not the color of the daylight sky? Why do people think I'm useless how come I feel so used why do some people see my skin and think I'm abused ? Lord I just don't understand what is it about my skin why do some people want to hate me and not know the person within ? black is what people are "listed" when other want to keep them away black is the color of the shadows cast black is the end of the day ? Lord you know my own people mistreat me and I know this just isn't right they don't like my hair or the way I look they say I'm too dark or light ? lord don't you think it's time to make a change why don't you re-do your creation and make everyone the same ? God answered why did I make you black get off your knees and look around tell me what do you see I didn't make you in the image of darkness I made you in the likeness of me I made you the color of coal from beautiful diamonds are formed I made you the color of oil The Black Gold that keeps people warm ? I made you from the rich dark earth that can grow the food you need your colors the same as the Panthers known for (HER) beauty and speed ..Your colors the same as the Black Stallion a majestic is he I didn't make you in the image of darkness I made you in the likeness of me all the colors of a Heavenly Rainbow can be found throughout every nation and when all of those colors as blended well You Became My Greatest Creation ..Your hair is the texture of a lambs wool such a humble little creature is he .I am the Shepard who watches them I am the One who will watch over thee. You are the color of midnight sky I put the stars glitters in your eyes there is beauty behind your pain that's why your cheeks are so high . You are the color of darks clouds formed when I send my stronger Weather I made your lips full so when you kiss the one that you love will remember . Your stature is strong your bone structure thick to withstand the burdens of time the reflection you see in the mirror the image looking back at you is Mines that's why I made you Black ....

I’d like to say

it was her mind, first,

but you told me that lies

are slips into sin.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot

(a lot a lot),

and I think it might even be better

if I could say

it was her hair, or her lips,

or her curves (please

pardon me Father Johnson),

because beauty is good,

from the hand of God,

and is admiring art sin?

But the truth is, Father…

this is very hard…

but the truth is, Father,

mind was third and body second,

because as she stood next

to me at the party in that

tight red sweater,

the first thing that got me was

the perfect knot she tied into that

cherry stem with her tongue.

(AKA my parents’ house, where the Hallmark Channel’s Christmas movie marathon provided ambience for our weekend) **Disclaimer follows playful rant**

1. Home is where the heart is. Home is never, ever a metropolitan area.

2. America faces a serious mental health crisis; cases of amnesia are on the rise.

3. Travel snafus are infinitely more effective than OKCupid or match.com.

4. Balsam Hill produces the only real Christmas trees; Charlie Brown’s was bullshit.

5. Omaha Steaks are aged at least 21 days, and everyone on my Christmas shopping list needs them.

6. If you have optimized your life for the possibility of real happiness, your collection of Christmas ornaments should be color-coordinated.

7. White people, white people, white people, white people – token! – white people white people… (so American society is like structurally racist duck duck goose, but charming)

8. Hallmark Corollary of the Friends Paradox: no matter what financial difficulties they discuss, other people can live in a Manhattan apartment or country home much nicer than you can afford.

9. Hardworking career women just haven’t learned the value of family yet.

10. “Maudlin” is both an aesthetic and an ethos.

**DISCLAIMER** My parents are actually lovely people; moreover, my values and theirs largely align, which is more than many of my elder-Millennial compatriots can say of their own Boomer parents. If you, like my parents, happen to like Hallmark Christmas movies, it is likely that you, like them, are not actually responsible for social, cultural, or moral decline, except insofar as you inflate the ratings of subpar television programming :)

I took my wife to lunch in my hometown today. We passed a cleaning business that was Prime Time Video once. There at eighteen I worked for $5.15 an hour and free rentals, and one night…

She entered as I held the keys to lock up for close, and we held one another. She was confused and scared, she said, and she still loved me, but she needed time. I loved her, too, and in those fifteen minutes her body felt the same in my arms as it had six months before. She left. I released my yearning soul in an e-mail before I slept, saying all I regretted and loved and wished.

But that wasn’t the time she had asked for. I broke it, that thing of fervent prayers that had been within reach for a night. I would have followed her; I knew what she was worth. I cried.

It’s funny now, especially the math. That night was 18 years, a marriage, two children, a career, and three home video formats ago. I will go to bed now. I met my wife, my love, in a college film class, and she is quietly breathing there by my pillow.

They should've known better than to ask for blood tests.

Nathan had wondered if it would kill them slowly, infecting them and waiting until the right time to strike. But it had been impatient. As soon as the syringe left his body, the blood in it was no longer controlled by his own will. It shattered its useless container, reaching out with long red tendrils and traveling down their throats, joining with the bloodstream until it finally reached their hearts. The doctors collapsed to the floor, their hearts stopped. Nathan almost pitied them. They hadn't lived long enough to see that their deaths were a consequence of their own actions.

But he didn't have time for pity. No one would pity him when they found him surrounded by bodies, the blood in their veins still thrumming through their corpses even after death. He ran from the hospital, careful not to be seen. It wasn't fond of being looked at.

When Nathan reached his home, he locked the doors, barred the windows, and ran to the mirror. He stared in horror at his eyes, which were bright red, covered in blood.

It had already happened.

He was too late.

"No, no no no," he whispered. He tore off his glasses and clawed at his eyes. If he could just get them out, maybe he would be safe. Maybe it would be gone.

His hands stopped in their tracks. Nathan knew instantly that he was no longer in control.

It was angry.

His limbs jerked around like puppets on a string, the blood in his veins pulled the rest of his body along. His heart started and stopped. It wanted him dead.

But maybe death was better than having it reach his brain. Having Nathan become a prisoner in his own body, just a vessel for a parasite that grew stronger every day.

It wanted to leave. It was going to get rid of him. He was no longer a good host.

"No, please!" Nathan whimpered. It ignored him.

"PLEASE!" he screamed again. "I don't want to die."

But it didn't care. It would live on without him. He was a necessary casualty.

"Why me?" he asked. Why had he been chosen, forced to spend the last three weeks with a parasite attatched to his blood? Why was he forced to choose between death and spreading it to another?

It was getting impatient. It was time for it to leave.

Every drop of blood in his body moved at once. Nathan screamed, once, twice, three times as his blood vessels ripped apart, a flood of the dark red liquid bursting out. He was shredded to pieces. His own blood was pulled out of his skin, leaving trenches in his flesh where the vessels used to be.

Nathan's corpse fell to the ground. It reached out the tendrils of blood and flew out of the room. It would need to find a new host. A better one.

It went out to hunt.