Family planing and Diet Coke and mosquitoes and all that shit.
Drug sales, night, machetes and all that shit.
"I would be yours foverver" in my Samsung Galaxy II.
Not in my heart.
Not in my mind.
You would be mine in my fucking phone.
And all that shit.
I cried again after drinking in the most beautiful place.
Anxiety about living feels like dignity and nothing more.
You went to privates schools. Just like me.
And now I'm here, with my european sexuality
trying to be more black than anyone.
But I'm white like a dead body. (Such dig-ni-ty!)
I'm white like the cold over there, in my motherland.
I know you want me.
Under the mosquito net.
In my fucking, fucking super smartphone.