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By Misti Date: 2003 Oct 01 Comment on this Work [[2003.10.01.04.26.11827]] |
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We cannot all get along. Some of us are white and wish we were black so we could claim our own slanguage and affirmative action and have a good reason to be pissed off. That way we could rap. That way we could call each other nigga and get away with it. That way we could be O.J. on the links pretending to be white. There are blacks who wish to be white so they could get out of the ghetto, maybe get a nice trailer next door to a Burger King or Radio Shack. I have been white and wished I was more than a quarter Cherokee. I have been white and hated that I wasn't in on the joke. Everyone talks in a rich language my poor pale ears don't understand. There are no African-Americans/Native Americans/Hispanics. But call me Partly Cherokee Partly Irish Partly Scottish Partly French Partly German Partly Swiss Mostly Mutt just to be on the safe side. Call me bitch and I will call you god. Teach me how to say I Want Your Dick Deep Inside My Pussy in Spanish. Teach me how to drink beer like a German. Teach me how to braid my hair like Heidi. She's dating a a guy who's a mixture of black, brown and green and her family tells her she is artless so she is starving. He's wrapping a towel around his head and screaming with saliva streaming from the left corner of his mouth as he stands on a streetcorner screaming,"God Bless America! Give Me Back My Job, Motherfuckers!" They are taking our jobs. They are picking our fruits and doing double shifts at our factories. Damn it, we want our drudgery back. We'll give you a quarter. Open the door and let us in. We are tired and huddled and muddled. A mass of sheep bleating our whines to the snoring wolf. We all hate what we cannot comprehend. We befriend those who could be our twins. We dance around in the same dizzy circles and trust the applause because the audience has our accent. We cannot all get along. The playground never ends. It just becomes more work. |