Fetish Books

“you want a romance with my blackness.
and how it holds you.
how it illuminates your skin. makes you break your
breath. against itself.
and how is this possible.
when your world has never made you breath. not once. ever. but
my blackness
makes
you think about yourself. in a way you have never. and you are
open. a question. alive. and now
hungry.
my blackness is your first love.
you are convinced it is. showing you what your eyes could
‘never’ see before. a ‘world’ bigger. brighter. dark. dusky
and
wild. unashamed of itself. rebellious.
and it’s cosmic. your relationship with how the night rolls off me
into your hands.
you and my blackness are soul mates.
you met so
you could learn. more. expand.
because you always knew you were not like the others. who made
sure they ate one white thing every day.
no. you
were
always uncomfortable with yourself.
you wear my culture around your neck. bask in and praise its
jewels. pick it up on days when you want
attention.
put it
down
when it starts
to stain. (you don’t want to be disrespectful and take more than
you should. you just want to be a part of
something so beautiful.)
my blackness came to save you.
came to help you escape. the clutches of racism. of having that
beast anywhere inside you. around you.
next to you.
your comfort. intimacy. proximity.
with my blackness
confirms. and affirms.
your nonracism. your lack of hate.
it is this heady trip. this painful awesome tryst. that brings you.
flushed and moon eyed. to my door
with thank yous. and
i love yous. you have taught me to be a better person. you have
changed my life.
but
this was never a relationship.
i have no idea who you are.
and i laugh
incredulous and insulted.
at the notion
that
my blackness could ever be your first love. that my blackness is
your freedom.
that my blackness is yours.
— fetish”
― Nayyirah Waheed, Nejma