What’s harder than being cool?

Walk in
Skin as bright as peacock feather
Veins humming with drink,
Love loose on my tongue
Fingers race hearts when they tap and queue
Squad cranks the party all the way up
－until white girl says
That’s nice but
You’re taking up too much space
I didn’t know dancing could be anything but a conversation
Until a white man told me I shouldn’t leave the house party
Because my body was doing amazing things
His gaze and mouth all
Full of awe
Before an Afrobeat fan
Followed my wine all the way to the floor
Saying
I can do that, too
Before a white gay slipped me his number
Should I ever want to go out sometime
I give them so much life
If impersonation is the sincerest form of flattery
Then what’s a bad imitation
You don’t even desire me
You dismember me
You want my hips for yourself
What would you do with my feet
Bring them out for company?
Hump them in your cold sheets
In the middle of the night?
This dark corner is not a stage
Believe it or not
I came to grind by myself
I don’t ask for much
Just this tract of dancefloor
Where I come to stop rubbing elbows
Cramming myself into margins
Folding and folding myself into your leftover space
Here is where my body can be big
Speak free
But you find me here, too
House party capitalist
You want me to be Rihanna
Stop watching like an audience
When you haven’t even paid
All this flattery
Makes me silkworm
Soft and withdrawn
Dreaming of a strong country
Where all around me would have been mirrors
Walk out exhausted
Shoulders hunched
No I’m not crying
These are such sweet problems
They would taste delicious under a hot sun
Hustling for food and water
But they are mine
I came to party
Turns out I’m the entertainment