Black, white and love; Walking rough lines

09 Mar



Oh my, todays poem is another rough line.

I don’t know where they’re coming from, but they’re coming.

This one I like though, I can stand behind. I know where it’s coming from, I don’t feel disloyal, it’s complicated and deals with race, sexuality and belonging.

It’s very complex…even for me…I won’t go into it, but I would LOVE comments, feedback.

I’m a black man. My father was a black man. My countrymen are black. My village is black.

Where am I caught loving white men? And does a man HAVE to be white for me to love?

It’s very heavy this…I have never had a black boyfriend. In fact, I don’t fantasize black, if you know what I mean.

The very fact that I fantasize white, has me REALLY thinking hard lately.

I work with black people, I respect black people, I love black people. I just don’t love black men. In that way anyway.

Now…this may not be entirely true. I know what it’s like to be in love and honestly, if a black man, an arab, a Japanese/Alaskan/Pygmy were to come up to me and offer a love struggle, I’d take it, I’m lonely.

But perhaps not being able to see  it unless it presents itself keeps it from showing up in my life.

I wonder if my father/society has anything to do with it? I am rejected by them – at least my sexuality – and it’s been a painful thing.

They love my language, they love my walk, why do I have to bring THAT THING UP! YOU’RE MORE THAN THAT THING, they cry.

And I agree. I AM more than ‘that thing’, I’m a writer and a tennis player, and a father, and a son, a brother and a director and a man. I’m a human being.

BUT. What’s wrong with ‘that thing’?

It’s very hard to describe what this does; I am acceptable on condition.

I can be useful, as long as.

I thought it possible to compartmentalize self and scrape through it, but it is not, and I’m determined to unravel this, this year.

I call myself out and proud, but I am impenetrable. There is not a single black man out there who can – or will – come close to me.

I reek of self-defense.

I HAVE been beaten up by white skin-heads though, never by a black man. I have had to fight in white lands, but never been harmed in black.

It’s worse this one. It’s about shame.

I’ve thought that this is something that lay outside of myself, but I think I’m wrong, whatever the situation outside of myself, my choices, my thoughts, begin with me.

I’m ready to try something new.

You. Over there. Ya. That white, furry  man in yellow underwear. Put them back on. See me later.

Black man, talking black.



P.S. Oh my goodness, today’s topic is on ‘favourite, slang, words……

The irony does not escape me.

-visit my poetry blog – Tomatos, Oranges and Other Fruit

photos – &




Posted by on March 9, 2011 in postaday2011


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5 responses to “Black, white and love; Walking rough lines


    March 10, 2011 at 02:02

    Thank you so much for pouring yourself out like this…it is amazing!

  2. lesser angel

    March 10, 2011 at 05:03

    Thanks for this, Kolembo.

  3. Tilly Bud

    March 10, 2011 at 11:33

    I’ve got no answers for you, your experiences being so different to mine. But self-analysis is a useful exercise and I think you may have answered yourself, in part: as your own culture rejects your choices, you choose to reject your culture in that part of your life they rejected.

    Plus, we all have a type 🙂 Mine is short, stocky men. Always has been. I don’t know why.

    I have left a question for you over on your poetry blog. I mention it because I don’t want you to think it is trite; I am genuinely puzzled by something, and I hope you can answer it.

    • kolembo

      March 10, 2011 at 12:19

      Thanks Tilly, I’d be delighted to answer anything, I don’t think you’re trite, you’re one of the very best I’ve found, thanks for visiting!

      And hello lesserangel! Thanks for reading!

    • kolembo

      March 10, 2011 at 17:13

      Oh I do short ‘n’ stocky no prob!


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