Keepers of The Light

 

Final Shots for Manipulated Light and Power Series
Final Shots for Manipulated Light and Power Series

The suppression of light denies it’s existential right to shine upon what hides in fear of being highlighted by that blazing, neon fury of getting to the bottom of surfaces masked with theory, conditioning.

Slow absorbing particles of articles that lurk in the darkness, making my cocoa into chocolate, as unpure as the hormone filled milk mixed to make your Milk Way so delicious. Is good really good?

She plays hide in seek behinds systems, cloaked in robes, sending men to warehouses to be tucked away into that oblivion which perverts my black into something sinister.

She lies naked in soiled beds with me, baptizing in my sweat but she won’t draw her weaponry of privilege to gain me even a spectacle of opportunity.

Her supremacy comes before her God, but she goes to church faithfully. I get superficial light from her that feeds my ego and rapes my soul.

I craved solar light infused with fire, youthfully riding the earth to reach the g-spot of my equator. Not the dim light she emitted like a dying bulb in a musty basement bathroom.

Her real light is given through her vote only to her own tribe despite the fact that I make her sing in orgasm and smile from genuine giggles only a belly laugh has the nourishment to invoke.

I hoped my kindness would provoke reciprocation but she dangled my climax like a carrot in my face – and like a silly rabbit, I chase. A race without a finish line. Running in the dark without light.

Nothing about what corrupts the dark is fictitious. My black was non-mythical until they wrote the stories, attached the records and gentrified it’s habitats at the peak of it’s thriving.

Blinding light is what has us all in a chokehold, gasping for air and fighting blindly because we can’t see.

Are you among them? The keepers of the light. Who swallow it just so they don’t have to share it with others. Who sells it for shares? Who manipulates it into other knock-off forms, bootlegging life?

Who won’t use it to look beneath the 50 shades of black stacked with generations of pain plagued in each membrane of the DNA passed along like a bucket of chicken at Ray Ray’s family picnic?

What has been passed along to me is suffrage uncorrected by those who inflicted it. Point the light into the depth of my dark and swim in it until you get the nucleus of truth oceans deep, where your ancestors hid it. Truth is the treasure that awaits you to create the bridge to unification. Where you can replenish all that you have taken away from us.

By Janell Hihi @Copyright 2017

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