Photo by Wikus de Wet. Words by Sean Metelerkamp.

what was I thinking
white skin hyper blinking
sixth sense sinking not blending
into the backing of black stacked
from front to back
and left and right
if I had
I would fly
but I’m so high
paranoia has me on shifting sands
sweat glands are like
chill, relax
ja ja ok
what am I doing here watching them watching me
basic obituary
for a modern day middle class whitey
strapped to colonial history
with rhodes imperialistic episodes
on daily repeat in the streets
and with ‘verwoerds hood’
still separating us for good forever
equality is a never never
the powers that be
pissed in the sea
and poisoned our basic ability to agree
I reject those two men
just like I reject zuma
and the current day dilemma on the podium
cease the rhetoric asseblief baas!
stop die blaas blaas!
I cannot see
I cannot focus
now where to?
my half thoughts and your voice
mix hocus pocus
superstition that
superstitious this
I’m stooped in the slower vibration
with the truth in my right hand
I shoot what I feel
I feel alone
deep in the inner conflict zone
double dark
outside my bracket
the boerewors bends now inside my head
and my blue veins reach for the door
I search deeper
back to when I was a pip-squeaker
Loma making me a cup of rooibos tea
no milk with a tablespoon of honey
she treats me like her own son
with a towel around my bum bum
carrying me on her back
my mamma (black)
I loved her
and I often think of her
‘it is the white mans fault!’
eruption here back in the vault

my larney!

I recognise the pain
in the nameless blame
and the loneliness
in the collective shout

just don’t call me baby.