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“The idea that sex is something a woman gives a man, and she loses something when she does that, which again for me is nonsense. I want us to raise girls differently where boys and girls start to see sexuality as something that they own, rather than something that a boy takes from a girl.”

— Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

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Tuesday, December 2, 2014

The Bunna Man

Why are you afraid of me staring at you? You are a good looking boy? Or perhaps you are worried that I might see the rifts in this bad boy veneer that you so assiduously try to maintain. Are you concerned that I might see you for what you truly are than whom you would have me believe you are? That I might see the truth, weigh your appeal and find you wanting or lack thereof. 

I dear not trust the vain certitude of my opinion but I will tell you what I see when I peer into your onyx eyes. When I look into your chocolate face, skin smooth and dark, regal like an Ethiopian prince. Your dark skin is not a coat of shame, it is a badge of honour. 

In your ebony eyes, I see a lost child, drifting on a wave of aspirations and unfulfilled dreams. I see a younger masculine version of myself. I see some of the personal struggles we all have and then some... 

 I like it when the corners of your lips relax, that tug right before your mouth curls inward into that beautiful smile that makes your dark eyes twinkle. And your pert nose is almost perfect, the blueberry hue of your slightly pluckered lips and the way the hair on your face affords you a ruggedly handsome appearance. Without your six o'clock fade, i would have mistaken you for a girl. You are that beautiful. Indeed the cutest boy sitting on the wall 

Crystal Evans, The Bunna Man.


I like you and it frustrates me as I imagine handsome men do women with silly, wistful romantic dreams of a relationship. You are a constant source of hope and at times sore disappointment. I know you like to be liked and I have chosen you to be a pawn in this game of the other man, a woeful respite from my less than idyllic life. 
A onesided benefit concert, like a time machine you hurl me for few hours; back in time where I am young and desirable, childless and irresponsible. Careless with my life, carefree with my love. We write tales on the Villa bed from The Joe Grind Chronicles.


Crystal Evans 
The Bunna Man 
Copyright © 2014 
Coming 2015 

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