Sexual Colors

I had sex last night with a boy the color of snow.

He said it was never that good for him before and he told me that the rise of my ass made him thank the lord for my existence. I smiled, pleased to please him.

But I walked away feeling as dirty as the color of shit. Feeling like I let him drag me into the depths of hell like Persephone and he only let me out when the sun rose. Feeling like my skin was only appreciated when it matched the night sky. He told me that I was worth fighting for, but he only seemed to fight with the old woman on his floor who told him he needed to find a woman the color of snow.

Everything we did was confined to darkness. It was as if he was following the rules of my skin. We only ate in the dark, laughed in the dark, slept in the dark, fucked in the dark. It was a pattern that sickened me like the black plague. My skin was a trap. I could only see the sun when alone.

So I had sex with a boy the color of cinnamon.

He said he only dated, I mean fucked lighter than him. I was the exception. I smiled, pleased to please him.

With him I needed justification. He needed to explain to boys darker than indigo that I was good to have on his arm. But the words from others kept slapping him and punching me. He let me fall like a rotten plum to the ground. I think he went lighter again.

So I had sex with a boy the color of obsidian.

He said he used to be fucked up and only dated snow, but that he came back to his roots. He said that our babies would be revolutionaries fighting for the cause. I smiled pleased to please him. That their dark induced skin would make them hyperaware to the tragedies of the world. He said I would be their keeper and I would foster them into changing the structure of the world.

He said I would be their mammy, I mean mommy.

So I stopped having sex.

I did not want to be an experiment hidden behind laboratory doors, or an exception for what I was made for, or a womb for the next revolution. I wanted to be the love of someone’s life, allowed to exist in my skin without the consequences of color. I did not want to smile pleased to please him. I wanted to smile. Pleased to please me.