The Blackness of My Blackness

The blackness of my blackness is that I know I am not thinking straight. When I know this, and yet I do not care. In fact, it is when I resent that I should think straight. When the mind is warped, it is a liberating sensation. No longer are there. Like the artist who first threw his paint instead of gently setting a brush, the blackness of my blackness is my failure to. The black is the warping, and the nessness comes loving from that. I don't give a damn what your blackness is, mine is my own, my private child born to me by me and will die with me. Your blackness is invisible, not subtle, don't kid yourself. Mine however, is a roaring devil ready to fight.