Lustful this hustle turns humans to hoes
-Lauryn Hill
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I can't tell where yours begins, I can't tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and then, oh hey
Where are your people from?
Maybe Mississippi or an island
Apparently your skin has been kissed by the sun
You make me want a Hershey's kiss, your liquorice
I got lost in the soft tone of India Aire' voice, gently rolling my hips and quietly singing along as I re-washed up the dirty dishes in the sink that it upstairs failed to wash up to decent standards. Releasing an aggravated sigh, I looked at the 'Wow African' box on the table feeling a wave of fury and anguish stimulate my brain, enough is actually enough. My whole demeanour transformed and the chill vibe that God had blessed me with this morning was long gone, that demon needed to leave my mothers home very soon. We have gone without light leading up to two weeks until yesterday after receiving money from work and yet she had the nerve and arrogance to order expensive weave and place it on the table as if she couldn't have put that money towards something useful. My mother needed to hurry up with her anniversary vacation this instance.
Sandra Monroe.
A woman who is nineteen years of age wasting her education yet invests every pound into her physical appearance in order to attract sugar daddies and rich hood boys is what some will call a A-list sket, but I am forced to call her sister. Well step-sister. By the time I wiped of the sides my track list had changed to Say Yes by Floetry and sleeping beauty descended down the stairs looking drained.
"Morning." she mumbled gliding towards the sink in order to wash her aspirin down with a shot of water, no doubt their was more shots of harsher liquids engulfed last night. Her face that was once on fleek remained bare exposing the birth mark residing on her cheek contrasting with her beige complexion. Her oval eyes remained shut as her head tilted back relieving herself of the constant weekend hangover. Regardless I gave Sandra props, I couldn't fathom how she made it home safe every night.
Abayomi, Trinity!
"Abayomi turn off the f*cking music." I paused staring at her wide eyed, this girl is reckless with her consistency to piss me off. To rudely insist of me to turn off my music while she plants her flimsy arse inside the kitchen I spent the entire morning cleaning. Looking at my fathers old skool stereo I turned up the volume and began singing aloud to U.N.I.T.Y by Queen Latifah and sweeping the floor. Plus, she called me by my first name which I have already established from they joined the family was a big no.
My name is Trinity, that's it.
Do not call me Abayomi without permission.
Watching her through my provisional vision she kicked over the chair in a huff before storming up the stairs. Abeg idiot, it is not my kneecaps that are going to be paining me. The aggressive vibration from a black iPhone6 on the table caught my attention for this phone didn't belong to anyone in the house, plus it had not been there while I was cleaning. Examining the customized phone I red the initials, M.V.
As my suspense to whom the phone belonged to thickened I gave into my urge of opening it, to my surprise their was no fingerprint or picture password. Entering the second wrong pin I had given up, well that slightly bruised my intelligence as I actually believed I would get it correct. In hopes the phone wouldn't block I place it back on the glass table were I had found it leaving no trace or evidence that it had even been looked at. Several short minuets later Sandra descended down the stairs for the second time today; but this time in a panicked rush as she rashly ran towards the phone grasping the object in her hands as if her life depended on it.
