top of page
  • Beatrice Iker

Micro Story #7: I Am Not a Tablerapper

Updated: May 6, 2022

The handcuffs are tight - tighter than they oughta be.

“You’re a criminal,” I’m accused, viciously, on the other side of the plastic barrier. “Your lies are legendary; your hoodoo cannot be.”

The police car reeks of annoyance and generational anguish - both of which belong to me.

“I am not a liar.”

Such fruitless words they are as they tumble from my lips. Even as I say them I know they are houseless, breakable.

Unfortunately for the policeman - yellowed with adult jaundice turned feral - I am not breakable.

My wings crush the backseat door, and I have flown out of the vehicle before it completes its swerve.

The wind roars against my reddened cheeks as I collapse into my routine of flying home after an eventful night.

Recent Posts

See All

As children, we were cursed beneath the oak tree off Dandridge Avenue we forgot our names & everyone else forgot them too Our mothers held us firm, fierce, fast in their trembling arms but their tongu

i would never tell you to forget your wounds stardust is many things but it is not unwounded we are not storyless, challengeless, painless we are stumbling miracles, and lonely in crowds, we are popul

Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page