Negra

Black.

I love my black.

My black is, all that you could ask for. And then some. What you require my black provides. Consistently.

But what is so special about my black? you might query.

It is the black that will support, encourage, motivate, fulfil and satisfy you wholly.

This black is exquisite: it can stimulate you in ways you've never experienced.

It seeps through your pores, caresses your soul whilst you clench every muscle in your body resisting climax.

It is toe-curling and mesmerising to the point you're in a state of ecstasy and there's no going back.

It'll leave a print down your spine and a message on your crown.

This black is the type you dream of, crave for, die for.

You question its reality because in reality it's too good to be true, surreal.

Untouchable yet touching...Unreachable yet smothering.

And it's all yours.

I love my black.

My black is what they love to hate. The very thought of it upsets their stomach like a virus. Omnipotent. But they despise it.

THEY tactfully degrade this black in so many ways: either it's unbearably black, or not black enough according to the stereotypes THEY created.

THEY link these hues to attitudes, mannerisms, decisions and all undesirable.

THEY used to put this black to the end of the queue but now the preach equality and pick a few to move to the middle to save THEIR own backs. Same difference.

THEY question and scorn our culture, yet imitate it making it recommendable. Profitable.

THEY get bored of their own at times and need this black's sand at their beach but with on condition that it's not "too black".

THEY restrain it, contain it, dilute it, brainwash it and when THEY still aren't satisfied, THEY shoot it dead in broad daylight.

This black is nothing but a joke to them. But I love my black.

I love my black...

and I say this many times so that you know it's real.

Every day I wake up and gaze through my black eyes at the sun hugging my black skin. I'm drenched in this black from hair follicle to my heel back. I couldn't ask for more. Black is all I speak, all I know. I inhale the black I adore and exhale the black they dismiss. I digest the black I’m a glutton for, whilst I excrete the self-hate THEY force down my throat. I caress my black regularly. To remind me of who I am and the beauty of my black.

I open a newspaper or turn on the tv and all I see is black: exploited, humiliated, exposed to the point where black is generalised, demonised. Bad business.

But I refuse to be negative: I praise my black, listen to my black and get to know my black on a personal level. I pray for my black and I ask god to watch down on my black and protect it. To bless it every second of the day and let it live another day.

I thank my black sincerely for being the best black it can be and for making me proud to be.

Black.