Dear Black Women

Dear Black Women,

We are sorry,

Sorry for allowing you to be raped with hate, anger and fear with a white man in your ear asking you why I'm here and not there

It wasn't fair, 

We are sorry for the long nights we made you work after you were raped to take the crumbs off the white man's plate to nourish our bodies only for us to spit in your face

We didn't respect you

Sorry for allowing our pride to console our emotions and our rage to put us in convulsions and construct abuse with the misuse of our words going heard not only by you but by our sons and daughters to birthing the next generation of dysfunctional segregation 

We were blind

Blinded by the blood in my eyes, from the whips to my backside I got when I stepped out of line trying to protect you.

Protect you from the psychological abuse the white man used to separate us, brainwashing you to believe that you were me and needed to be the head of our family . . . But you're not a man you see. 

We're so ashamed 

That I've stood by and watched as the clock ticked tocked and 400 years later we are still being degraded and our great grandchildren are no longer debating but formulating rap songs, and our grand daughters are shaking their ass in thongs trying to find the richest white man to get on. 

We're appalled 

We did see this coming

But while I was being beat I did get to sneak a peak at who was whipping me . . . and it was you. See you were inflicting the abuse with the use of your tongue which influenced our young and lead us to the destruction of many generations to come. 

It was and still is their plan

To use your actions to blind me with anger and destroy what's around me which is my home, my friends and my family. Causing me to seem like the ape or over aggressive thing causing the depopulation of our lives you see. Leading to the visual perception of our sons and daughters to act stone cold hearted which leads to fatherless daughters and sons without mothers because they can't love one another. 
We didn't know what to do

So I let you beat me

Afraid that if I fought back I'd push you farther away. And watch that disgusting smirk grow on that white man's face because he knows that he won either way. No check needed he HAS my mate possessing you in every way. 

Dangling you In front of my face, while I sit and stare and wish away knowing that the future won't change in the better way.

So when he set me free . . . I put the shackles back on not because I was ignorant . . . But because without me in the picture in some shape or form our hope would be gone. 

We are sorry. 

The Problem of Having All the Time In the World

Having all the time in the world might make you feel a bit invincible. Like you can pick and choose what you'll want to deal with today. You'll continuously put off all the important annoying stuff for another time. It seems all the annoying stuff are usually the important ones, doesn't it? It makes it even more exciting to put off. But when the night passes and nothing's been done, you start to wonder; am I the problem or is IT the problem? The illusion that our productivity contributes a good amount to society. That society will improve upon our contributions. The pressure. That society will improve upon our contributions. He says, "You can't be a lump on a log". She says, "Stop being lazy". They say, "You're a waste of air". Perhaps we'd much rather work on our own priorities instead of yours. 


Out of My Hands

I couldn't have accepted this cool summer breeze more than at any other moment in my life. It wafted over a certain fragrance from the natural world that surrounded me; my nostrils were blessed with the scent of wet dewey summer grass, orchids, beautiful azaleas. The ground I laid on was moist and molded against my body as if the world had the intention of swaddling me like it's own child.

I took a practiced breath. My muscles relaxed.

Before I could react, the ground beneath me began to crumble. Not so much that it was a swift cave in but that my body seemed to have felt like it was sinking through quicksand as the ground rumbled and the soil simply broke apart beneath me in small chunks before the final rumble separated the earth I laid on.

My body followed the forces of gravity and, to this day, I have never stopped falling.


About Trust Issues

I’m not sure when it started. It had to be immediately after my mom transferred me to a predominantly Caucasian school and submerged me into a sea of slim noses, straight long hair, and fair skin tones. Perhaps it was when the middle school boys referred to the bags under my eyes as suitcases. Or maybe it was when my first middle school boyfriend agreed to date me only because my friends pressured him into our short-lived relationship.  I cannot recall the date when my eyes aimed for the ground as a means to avoid seeing everyone’s twisted facial expressions as they examined my wide nose, unmanageable tresses, and bumpy skin. I don’t know when I ditched all of the cool clothes my mom purchased for me for baggy sweatpants and oversized sweatshirts that hid my misshapen figure. I have always been the funny girl but I am not sure when my jokes became a means to distract my companions from gawking at a face that tormented me every time I looked in the mirror. Eventually, I started avoiding mirrors. What frustrates me more than not knowing when my self confidence dropped to an all time low, is not knowing when it will get better.

With the emergence of movements like natural hair and #blackgirlmagic, there has been a positive shift in the black community where black men and women are starting to embrace our exaggerated features and one another. For a short time, that shift had an impact on me. I chopped off all of my relaxed hair, ripped the tags off of unworn clothes, and raised my head just a tad bit higher than usual. I presumed that my new look and confidence boost would provide me with an active dating life as I have never been in a serious relationship or even approached by a guy. The guys only came around when I told a joke. My jokes continued to protect me from being the actual joke. When the laughs subsided I found myself resenting my male counterparts for not extending our relationship past a comedy routine prepared and performed by yours truly.

Every day is different. Every hour is different. Sometimes when I first wake up and stare at myself with drool stains around my mouth and untamed hair I am actually quite pleased with my appearance. When I return to the mirror an hour or so later after a hot shower I frown at what I see looking back at me. It is as if I am seeing things clearly. The bags under my eyes are more profound. My nose is much bigger than before. My skin is uneven. Over the years, I’ve learned that I can’t rely on my mirrors to show me a beautiful girl. I only refer to them to make sure I look presentable for the day. I spend the rest of the day looking at the ground.


The Sunset and the Stars

I’ve seen Death and you,

In that blend between the sunset and the stars.

Don't think I haven't seen you up there,

Waving a magic hand like that of Hope and Redemption

Don't think I haven't felt your presence,

Having brushed a ghostly 'good night' kiss against my cheek.

And I know that you see me too.

And that's why I see you

As that perfect blend,

Between the sunset

And the stars.

The Aftermath of a Broken Society

I can't remember the last time I had anything to drink.

The people have rioted and their outbursts have kept us far from society and, therefore, out of reach from resources.

Our tethered clothing have just barely kept us warm.

My tongue is swollen.

Every night I do still go to sleep.

I wake up screaming not too long after. Still, something grabs hold of my windpipe and squeezes so that I don't make a sound when my whole body shakes with rage as I try to let out the pain, the fear, the hunger, the thirst.

Our bruises and scars sting with phantom pain.

There is no society here. No life.

This is not home.