- White men say weird things to me
or do creepy shit they think I should be flattered by.
I've never dated a white man before.
I like to think it's
because I've never wanted to stimulate my genetic trauma
or
wanted that kind of success
to validate my accomplishments.
I don't think my ancestors
would consider their rape
as race-play and call it sexy.
When I was in high school,
I remember my bus driver pulling the bus
to the side of the road,
near the woods.
Some folks think the hood aint woods,
but
some hoods do.
And I sat
stiff, rabbit and waiting.
It is in the silence
where white men become the ones
in every movie I've ever seen.
Killers who still receive praises,
Freddy Kruegers and Jason.
He moves
in slow motion to the back of the bus.
He wants me to know I'm seeing exactly
what I think I'm seeing
and I wanna see how fast I can run but
I can't move.
So I try and disappear
because how else
are black girls
supposed to use their magic?
But it's my heartbeat that gives me away
as he touches my hair,
my shoulder,
my thigh. He says,
"Everyday,
you leave
and come back
the same.
Pretty,
pretty,
so pretty."
And that's it.
That's all he wanted me to know.
He said it three times,
so it must be true and traumatizing.
Lets me off the bus.
And I never skipped track practice again.
In college, a white boy
from across the hall is sitting in my room one night,
on my bed,
in the dark,
with his pants unzipped.
Says he mistook my room for his.
If I move,
will they call it manslaughter or
self-defense?
In Boston,
a white man told me,
I looked just like his mother.
And I wondered if he meant
his caregiver?
Another one in Houston,
snapped the close-up and showed me,
"See now I own you,
forever.".
A white man in Wisconsin,
flicks his cigarette at me
and promises to find out what hotel I'm staying in.
One time in Seattle,
I disappeared in a white man's blues.
I can't remember
if his name was William,
Robert,
Richard,
Gary,
Ted, or
any other white man whose obsession with killing
gets romanticized for someone's breath,
taking someone's breath
away for collecting screams in jars,
in basements,
in attics.
His voice was gentle and conning like,
like, I better be smart enough to keep my freedom.
Like I better know how to stay in my own body.
He asked if,
if I wanna go back to his place
to eat some roasted pumpkin seeds.
(laughs)
That's some weird shit to say, right?
(crowd laughs)
Creepy, huh?
White men taught me
that being a predator is a compliment.
That I should smile while walking
or running
or hiding,
Sheniqua.
Shantia, Anna, Harmony. Kania, aka,
no one turns over the earth
when a black girl goes missing.
That it's only a matter of time
before no one finds me,
too.
(crowd claps)