To my non-African sister

I saw you the other day. I saw you walking my way.

I saw walking with the confidence of my black sister, as you were my black sister.
You braided your hair and made a statement to whomever was watching. You let your hips confused your brothers enemy. You wore a dashiki and claimed your false heritage under the African flag.

I saw you the other day. I saw you walking my way.

You tried to be stereotypically black because you said my people have culture. You left you house because you want culture? Or are you looking for that BBC?

I saw you the other day. I saw you walking my way.

You confused your father and your brother's enemy, you confused me and made me bite into the fruits that were reserved for the perfect aryan boy. I enjoyed it and I lost myself in you.

I saw you the other day. I saw you walking my way.

My hand moved slowly under your shirt until I reached the back of your bra. I looked into your green eyes and inhaled your lust for me. I stroked your golden blonde hair away from your face and I allowed myself to get lost in your lust, to forget that your father wanted you to be with another.

I saw you the other day. I saw you walking my way.

You started saying you were my Beyonce and I was your Jay-Z. A memory slapped the side of my head, a memory of my black sister singing her lungs out to a Beyonce track because to her that was black empowerment.

I saw you the other day. I saw you walking my way.

what have you done to me? Why did I allow myself to lose myself into this nigger lover that only cares about my black cock and not my struggle?

I saw you the other day. I saw you walking my way, I and I wished I had ignored you.