I thought she was a kid- perhaps 13 or so. Her soft,curly hair hung on the sides of her head in two puffs. I chastised myself and buried judgement moments after I saw her stand. The high waist, thick, spandex pants she wore cuffed her ass and when she got up to take the stage, her ass jiggled.
Oh- to be young and not give a damn.
She looked like a Toya or one the neighborhood girls you grow up with. The pretty, brown girl who has probably been told way too many times that she “is pretty for a dark skin girl.”
I was surprised when she shared that she was actually from Sudan and had come to the U.S. as a girl with refugee status. I didn’t want to think about that war because I can not make sense of such horrific crimes. I’ve never been able to reconcile how the universe permits such evil.
So I focused on her eyes instead. They flickered with joy and maybe a bit of slyness. She was feeling herself and rightfully so. I clung to her words. The poetry. What she said and what she didn’t say. Her wisdom. Her tales that spoke to experiences that she herself could not have fully discovered in this lifetime.
We were kin-physically here but mentally on another planet in another universe.
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~Thanks for Keeping it Kinky~