Well , at least someone will have to pay for bringing me into the world . Don ’ t think !
I can ’ t stop the thoughts . Memories of being a toddler and not understanding any of it .
Why is my hair all kinky and fuzzy , like sheep ? Why am I such a freak ? I would cut the hideous wool off my head with a pair of scissors , too young to understand it will always grow back , and then I ’ d hear the shaming taunts from kids in my neighborhood .
“ Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear , fuzzy wuzzy had no hair .”
I can ’ t stop the spiralling memories of crying as a six-year-old watching Kunta Kinta being whipped and forced to refer to himself by his slave name , Toby , in the movie Roots . I begged my dad to watch it when I was in grade one after seeing the commercial for the movie on TV . I hoped to discover clues as to why I was so different from everyone , but it was a horrible mistake . After watching Roots , I could never forget who I am .
I cry tears that will never stop falling as I learn the truth . I ’ m a lone descendant of slaves who have been kidnapped and taken to an inhospitable white environment .
These are my people . These are MY PEOPLE ! This is who I am . I am a slave . I ’ m not a human being . I am just a piece of property . I am a nigger .
You ’ re just a dirty nigger and a slave .
As my shame begins to consume me , I gaze over the crowd to distract myself . A desperate and hungry hunter , I am relieved when I finally spot and focus on my prey . She sits twenty feet away at a round table with two other girls and a young man . They are all drinking pints of beer and facing the stage . I can see her beautiful grey eyes . She is stunning and she notices me and smiles . I don ’ t smile back .
“ Is it a smile ”, I know she must be wondering about the look on my face . It ’ s not a smile , only a dispassionate assessment of a possible means for my constant need for release . But we ’ ve noticed one another and as she returns her attention to the stage , and as her friends continue to laugh and talk , and as I look around the room - or at my pack of cigarettes or my beer - my eyes always return to hers . She keeps looking at me .
You ’ re just a fucking trophy .
She ’ s very beautiful , young and fresh looking . Amid the haggard looking drunks that fill the bar , she stands out . I think about fucking her but then stop myself . My thoughts are too sharp now and thinking of her only starts me down the dark path of memories .
Don ’ t think .