Summer 2025 - Vol. 22, Issue 3

There was a man.

A white man.

A man so big and large,

stocky like a tree.

I could not resist.

I must combat, for my love lies with another.

I can’t, I tell myself.

I can’t, I tell myself.

I can’t, I tell myself.

But I did.

...

There was a man.

A man so smart and kind, so kind and smart. Falling for him was an art.

An art of lies, terror, and self-truth.

Discovery at its finest

through turmoil, desperation, and blindness.

I lost myself.

My love, I wanted your attention so badly that I lost myself.

I lost myself.

I lost myself.

I wanted to believe you were good.

I wanted to believe you were pure, my love.

But your love was white lines and white lies. And white, I am not.

I wasn’t fit for you,

fit for your aesthetic.

...

So, there was a man.

A white man.

A man so big and large,

stocky like a tree

and I fell into his branches.

He embraces me with his leaves and I tasted his sap - so sweet, so sweet.

I thought you were soooo sweet,

you swept me off my feet and drug me into your forest.

Little did I know, your forest was infested with mirror images of my love, my love -

the truth of my love.

You were him and he was you

and I used you to learn the truth.

The truth about myself and the truth about you.

You, my love, lead me to that man.

To the bed of a man who stained my name. Crushed my goodness -

isolated my TRUTH.

I was your facade.

...

There was a man.

A white man

who used me as an image

to shape his idea of reality

and alter the truth.

The truth of my love, my love, my love. My love...

if you were my love, you would have believed me and never faltered from my trust.

You wouldn’t have lead me to the bed of the man,

the other man,

the white man.

The white man,

the white man,

the white man.

The black truth.