Dark Child Nah Nah (or Self-Portrait as 90s R&B Video)

lately, i've been opening doors in slow motion
& find myself often wearing loose white silks
in rooms packed with wind machines & dusk
I have a tendency to be sad near windows
thinking of all the problems i have
with my man with his trifflin yellow ass
my man is more a concept than anything
at dinner i watch red pepper soup spill
onto his power blue button down shirt
& ask why don’t you love me anymore?
i sit on the couch with a wine glass full
of milk, cry in a way that makes me gorgeous
& fuckable. my girls come over & we burn
his suits to light our spliffs. my best friend
tells me I need to get over him, he doesn't
even exist, but what she know? i have all this
house to walk through, all these gowns to cry
on, all these windows to watch the rain through
there must be a man in this house who loves me
too much to do it well. there's a room
in my basement filled with water & gold & that’s it.
water up to my well managed waist
gold link chains that curl around my ankles
like boa constrictor or the hands of a man
around a neck he once loved to bite & call
for god into. i dip my head in, let even
my hair get wet & rise out the water hood Venus
Afrodite, bitch god with iced out ropes draped
from my head & arms & covering my nipples
& ill nana just so. I could be a trophy for some
award show only niggas know, every rapper's
favorite ex, 1996 given a body & he don't
love this? I walk into my foyer cause i have
a foyer & say who is she, nigga? I swear
the hydrangeas flinch. my man is so fake
he doesn't exist. my girl was right – all those
suits were mine, my man is all in my head
& it's a bad head. tomorrow, after I run
& spend some time studying the mirror's
wisdom, i'll burn this motherfucker down
like Left Eye would, like any good wife.
whatever survives the blaze will be
my kingdom. i hope i make it.