Inspired by beloved Chiwan Choi
listening to the screaming
inside me
–Chiwan Choi
–
My maker told me once, that with my acceptance of his sacred gift I would unlock more mysteries than I was aware existed. When he carried me off from the field, I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. So pale and milky white, unlike Mister with his big splotchy face, my maker was silk, Mister was burlap. In the beginning, it was always all silk.
I was a little slave girl. I was the quiet one. The dark one Mister only looked at in the worst of moments. Most of the time eyes slid off of my face, I was too dark, my hair too nappy, I wore my ugliness like a shield and my maker saw me.
I thought.
My maker did several kindnesses to me. He taught me to read. To speak languages, to play a flute. I was his most favorite thing, his most revered thing, his greatest piece of art he would say.
Until I understood. I could never be his equal.\
I was a little slave girl. I was the quiet one. The dark one Mister only looked at in the worst of moments. Most of the time eyes slid off of my face, I was too dark, my hair too nappy, I wore my ugliness like a shield and my maker saw me.
And then, I saw him.
All these long years later, when I am quiet I can hear him inside me, howling his rage from my blood where he lives.
The night I saw him truly for the first time was his last night weighed down by the corporeal. When I offered myself, he partook gladly of my dark flesh. He loved to sing in my ear as he thrust and gibbered. I knew how to please him, how to force him to surrender to the deepest mysteries. When he began to buck, hollering for blood as he came, when I put my mouth on his throat, he had no idea.
I tore his throat from ear to ear, I held him between my thighs, my hips pumping as I used my teeth to drink and tear and rend until he was no more.
Mister was burlap.
Maker was silk.
I-
I am fucking God.
listening to the screaming
inside me
–Chiwan Choi
oh. oh my.