last week  

was a new kind of heavy.  

had me waist-deep in resentment.  

 This whole Milky Way won’t look me in the eyes.  

i’m no one’s friend after-school.  

except the blue network of branches in the Mission District.  

i hold everything in my hands like those blue trees.  

My mean-mugging, gangster grandmother that intimidates with her eyes.  My mother, yelling young one & watch it from her hitchko, speaking in self-respect.  Self-defense embroidered in my dirt hoodie, my sackcloth socks.  appendix of any & all constellations  

snuck in my back pocket.  

Been making galaxies graves since i was kid.  

when i was kid and all heaviness, recess was racial slur.  

Sick of it  

i went intergalactic, i went multi-dimensional,  

i went like dark matter. How mirror malfunctions.  

Meaning I do not see myself. Meaning  

I am sick  

Of the white supremacy in every child’s sneer.  

Grade school teachers looked at me.  

Saw nothing & now,  

my thoughts turn on you.  

Are you ready for the next 3 billion years?  

Waves fade and fumble from my geodetic pressure.  

Mud marbled; made holy from my foot’s long arc  

and it gets heavier for you still.  

If you dare touch me.  

You & that gall.  

Your fighting words. Peutting up fists, boy,  

my whole body is a haymaker,  

You have only theorized of me.  

This is an autobiography in dark matter.  

A mean spell.  

Might just mold this whole universe to urn  

if you touch me. call me darkie. Dare even look at me  

one more time.