“Why don’t we have some fun?”
You fucking piece of garbage.
I’m not so fucking stupid.
I’m not so naive.
Pounds of flesh, we are to you.
Overflowing in blackness.
Or is it the fatness that gets you?
Both you say,
Like a child revealing his secret
About his imaginary world
Where some people are convenient technologies
“I can fuck that?”
Go fuck yourself.
Your racism is not my safe space.
Fat-phobic, racist bastard.
I’m not sitting here for your pickings.
I’m am not your empty body,
You’re craving love and perpetuating pain
Emptiness looking to perceived emptiness.
My emptiness is from vile creatures
Scraping away from me,
Inside out.
Pounds of flesh gone,
Maybe,
Maybe to the eye,
But inside it hangs loose and slows me down.
When you touched me
I didn’t know
Those hands were toxic
with racist thoughts
strangely gliding over me
for your meaningless satisfaction.
Poison.
You have nothing in life but family
maybe a few friends.
Maybe.
I wonder why?
Are you light, like a balloon?
Free from responsibility?
That’s called living a soulless life..
Are balloons really happy?
Maybe that’s what you deserve.
Emptiness.
Unhappiness.
Alone. Ness.
As you please, you racist, fat-phobic bastard.
“‘Artist’ is too flattering a word to describe her. She simply expresses, and in more ways than one. Yosef enjoys peeling back the layers of global politics, including conflict, economics, identity and diaspora. Yosef is a member of the Eritrean Diaspora. Much of her upbringing and the political dynamics of Eritrea inform her work. She is constantly shifting to identify and re-identify herself in a changing world.”
jacobvanloon
janainaart
titsay
izzy806
origamiaround
