Dark Skin

Graphic dipiction of cultural self-hate

Akita,
regurgitate the blood
you lapped from my carcass last night.
Feed it to me.
Let it drip through the cage of jaw
that held me motionless
as each dark layer unpeeled.
When I taste it,
conjure the majesty I begged to escape:

Sire,
hunt the wayward subject
who surrendered his foxhole.
Decapitate him.
Pass his limbs around the squad
to brand a treacherous sin,
the self-loathing of our regal dark skin.