Etre


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Selfie of me on a bed with blue hair.

"I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don't ask me who I am.
-Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath


Pretty for a black girl,

but beyond that
just another daughter
who feelsher parents would love her more
if she were thinner, facing the tension between
being made to be desired and failing, experiencing womanhood,
wishing you’d see my hood before you saw my woman.
And yet I never feel more disturbed than when I think of being.
To be
self conscious
means both aware of one’s self
and
uncomfortable with one’s self.

You’re getting frustrated with me
because you don’t fully understand the topic.
I’m uncomfortable because we have any understanding at all.
Humanity isn’t tragic because it sins,
but because it’s sentient.
Hell is material being,
experiencing, interpreting
and logging these to the self,
an impalpable manifestation
that is always being felt and perceived.

My self?
Indistinguishable from unease.