Monthly Archives: August 2015

Challenge Accepted

The following is a poem I wrote in response to a friend’s (Mia Wright) challenge on FB to write a poem about love that doesn’t have similes or the word “love” in it.  Here’s what I submitted…

I feel you.

You saturate my being

And cleanse me of my fears…even though sometimes I’m afraid of you.

I breathe you.

I inhale you each time my lungs fill

And you nourish every cell of my being…even when you take my breath away.

I dream of you.

You dance through my mind

And occupy my thoughts constantly…and yet allowing myself to experience you is probably the most mindless thing I’ve ever done.

I long for you constantly.

Because when you’re with me, everything else makes sense.

And the stuff that doesn’t…doesn’t matter.


I’m Sayin’ It

I never felt the need to “carry the cross” for racial equality because I, like many who were lulled to sleep by placating political gestures and distracted by “shiny” things like the American Dream and the right to pursue happiness, I thought “they” (the leaders who led the FIRST round of demands for civil rights) handled it already and that we were “past that”.  But more and more I find myself fighting the overwhelming urge toward indignation because shit is absolutely NOT okay and I don’t feel BLACK voices are being heard. My poise thus far is not because I feel like I need to continue to pacify and “stay in my place”…but rather because once I come out of the box, Pandora won’t have JACK on me. So I’m studying balance…and learning when and how to strategically tip the scales.

But today is not a “study” day.

And I will admit that I was tempted to “qualify” the BLACK voices that “should” be heard. You know, the educated, non-criminal, articulate, “plays well with White folks” voices. The ones that aren’t intimidating, know how to scout out “when to speak” and when to “…remain silent”, what dialect they need to adopt in order to “relate”, and voices dressed in smiles, suits, straightened or neatly curled and coiffed hair, and “tastefully” jeweled. But DAMN THAT.

The BLACK voices that ALSO need to be heard are the ones who, because of pulled funding and pornographically underpaid educator pay, might not put sentences together “good”. The ones whose pants may indeed fall off their ass, or whose skirts may look painted on. The ones who may even have upwards of 3, 4, or 5 children with different “baby mamas” or “baby daddies” and show no evidence of having been introduced to a condom or birth control method. The ones who have a “record”…and I ain’t talking about on iTunes. Why? BECAUSE THEY STILL MATTER! And if you actually listen to what they may not be so-called “articulate” enough to say, you MAY learn about the conditions (and conditionING) that brought them to where and how they are.  Who are YOU, person who is content to perpetuate an overtly racist system masquerading as opportunity, to “qualify” which BLACK life “deserves” to have a voice or “matter”? PLEASE go sit down and take whatever justification you feel you have with you.

Generation after generation of degradation, disrespect, disregard, belittlement, humiliation, second-guessing, and systematically imposed poverty…and you want to tell me that if my brother just pulls his pants up, he’ll “stand a CHANCE” of being heard? So you’re telling me that aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall of this is about some damn PANTS??? Aw okay…

Listen. I’m not saying burn the shits down. BUT it’s hella hard to stand by and watch the frozen molasses of justice make its way down to us. BLACK LIVES MATTER. Period. No laws which can ever be passed will remove racism from the hearts and minds of people. We know this. But still…BLACK LIVES MATTER. This doesn’t take away from any other people group, because YES “ALL lives matter”…but “ALL lives” aren’t being profiled. “ALL lives” aren’t being killed without indictment or prosecution. “ALL lives” aren’t in communities that are self-imploding because more liquor stores and payday loan stores are being erected than schools. “ALL lives” aren’t still haunted by the ghost of slavery, which brought BLACK lives to this stolen nation.

So I’m saying it again… BLACK LIVES MATTER. We are not the “animals” that we were (and, in many cases, still are) labeled. BLACK LIVES MATTER. And I shouldn’t have to build a case to justify why my life matters. Or why my brother’s life matters. Or my sister’s. Or my father’s. Or my mother’s. Or my niece’s. Or my nephew’s. Or my son’s. Or my daughter’s. Or my aunt’s. Or my uncle’s. Or my grandfather’s. Or my grandmother’s. Or…you get the point.

BLACK LIVES MATTER.   I make absolutely NO apology for my indignation. I make no apology for how many times I inserted BLACK LIVES MATTER into this writing. Because “BLACK LIVES MATTER” makes waaaaayyy more sense than “get out of the car!”, “fuck your breath!”, “we found her that way”, slamming a 14-year-old BLACK girl in a bikini to the ground with a knee in her back, killing a child for playing with a TOY gun, evicting a 90-year-old Navy VETERAN from his 60-year-old home (no, not all injustices perpetuated against BLACK people are violent), or COUNTLESS other monstrosities. BLACK LIVES MATTER.  I’m saying it, and will continue to say it…for myself and every other BLACK person who feels the need to be “taught” how to live in BLACK skin without becoming a fatality.  BLACK LIVES MATTER.

I’m not writing this to make anyone uncomfortable. On the same count, I refuse NOT to write it because it does. BLACK LIVES MATTER. This is not a marketing campaign to “convince” the masses…BLACK LIVE DO MATTER!!! I don’t care what the circumstance, what the living condition, what the mindset, what the challenge, what the “attitude”, what the…whatever. BLACK LIVES MATTER.

There…I said it.


Tribute

You are ever so smooth in how you move
In commanding authority you walk—or should I say “groove”
Everything you do has a purpose, a reason, a goal
I can see it in your eyes—your deep, enchanting eyes
For they witness of your soul

Which bears the scars and bruises and fears of a heart,
broken and disappointed several times over
And because you rarely, if ever, allow this part of you to be seen
Your face, often, is expressionless in an all-too-successful attempt to cover
Your feelings, your emotions, your true thoughts
About your past, your future and today

Oh, and dare I say…love…it’s okay

To be in love with life, with Love, with yourself, and…me
Please don’t forget about me

Your scent, your walk, your way of talking
Your hug, your smile, your style of dressing
Your charm, your laugh, your vibe, your groove, your soul, your love…
That’s what draws me to you

Nothing particular, nothing specific
But everything spectacular, everything unique, everything special, everything—
“You”

You are a man, living in your own world
Often misunderstood by those of us who don’t come from there

Your life tells a story
Of Joy and sorrow…Strength and weakness…
Triumph and defeat
You are an Overcomer

Driven by Determination, destined for Greatness,
created for Dominion
You are a Prince

A knight in imperfect armor
You are Father, Brother, Husband, Friend…and Love.
You are…you
And I thank you.