fronting: an undoing.

peeling off, peeling out, laying the dumb shit to the side.
seeing myself, wholly, in bright light
not allowing myself to be lost in the crevices between what he says, what she says
slipping through cracks that seem more like caverns
i am no longer willing to be held hostage by image or ego, whether mine or someone else's
coming undone has never been so dope, and i love how it feels
i have started to embrace la loba within.
and for the first time, in a long time, i don't feel the overwhelming urge to tattoo or pierce, to cut my hair or get my eyebrows waxed.
i'm fine how i am, where i am
because i'm meant to just do what i do
there's nothing to stop me
no one to slow me down

the only one in the way of this is me. and i've decided to move on over.

i don't like it when

ppl tell me what i need to do.
taxes, payin bills, etc -- totally not the same thing as "instruction" or "advice" from someone who has zero clue about me, where i am, where i'm going, who the fuck i actually am.

so with this, i say a hearty fuck you
to anyone who thinks they can herd/ bully/ talk me into whatever is safest for them
to anyone who thinks they can figure out what my "problems," "issues," or "shortcomings" are (and can lead me to the "righteous" path they're on)
to anyone who thinks they're gonna see me fall, fail, lose, or otherwise land any way other than on my fucking feet
to anyone who loves her/himself so much that sharing that self love with me is actually an effort to influence me to emulate their monkey ass
basically, thanks, but no thanks
i came here with a mission
god and i have planned some thangs and they're being put in motion even as you talk shit
i understand, baby, that you think you're being helpful
i get it, dear heart! you wanna share cuz you think there's something i'm not seeing
so keep talkin
that'll be nice background noise while i do my thug thizzle
maybe i can get karas to remix all the nay-saying into a song for my get up in the morning and knock this shit out mix

iono
at the end of the day, though i've got me
i'm fine
i'm lovely
i'm beautiful
i am favored by the most high god/dess and there isn't shit that's gonna stop me
i am stepping into the place that's meant for me

so fuck you very much
thank you so much for your commentary
it's reminded me of why i never took you seriously to begin with

on: acting right.

thembi's lady laws for black women (with my notes in italics):


1. Stay Off Of The Pole. And For That Matter, Out Of Videos. I haven’t decided whether or not I have a real problem with strippers or strip clubs in general - who am I to say that men shouldn’t be allowed to gather in a public place and expose their inability to be fully intimate with their spouses by fondling and ogling some stray woman? What I do know is that YOU shouldn’t be one of said strays. Letting your body be drool-worthy for a room full of men cheapens and degrades you, and in the long run is not at all worth the money (no matter how pressed you are for cash). You never know who will be in that club, and when the "I saw Keisha on the pole!" story is told, your future boss or uncle who was "just in there with his boys" won’t be the shamed one, you will! If you like showing off your sexy side, which all of us should, save it for the right man, who will love enjoying all of the freaknasty you have inside of you without having to pay for it on a dollar-by-dollar basis. Someone will always do it, just don't let that someone be you. The same goes for being in videos. That is NOT a profession and will not lead to any sort of meaningful career, modeling or otherwise. A ho is a ho, root word whore, meaning sex for sale, and your stuff is priceless. Got it? [my note: this ties directly into lady law #8. if you're gonna strip, you're gonna strip. but don't walk out of the shaky butt feeling like someone has managed to get more out of you than what they've paid for. unfortunately, we all know about becoming a sex worker (i include strippers in that) to pay for tuition and to feed babies. in my opinion, there are a few social issues that come into play when it comes to dancing vs. working 3 jobs or whatever. i kinda doubt that most of the women who might need this caveat even read thembi's blog. but she makes a damn valid point: your future boss might be there with his boys. then what do you do? sometimes, the immediate need outweighs any potential fallout. especially when it comes to maintaining the roof over your head and that of your family. ultimately, though, shame/ embarrassment seem to tie directly into whether or not you fully own your history and present. living with no regrets usually involves being unabashedly yourself, which leads us into lady law #2.]

2. Go Where No Blackgirl Has Gone Before. The obvious interpretation of the title of my blog is that I think that I’m some Jesus figure. Not so. Actually, the very weekend before I started blogging, loyal commenter Aaliyah was at an almost all-white party filled with beefy frat boys and was asked to do a kegstand. At her side were two other friends of mine, one of which said to her "What would Thembi do?" The obvious answer – go where no black girl has gone before and do the freaking keg stand! It really IS ok to be you, whether it’s as trivial as going snowboarding or as major as pursing a PhD in Greek Mythology. Do the most random or ridiculous things you feel like doing even if you’re not technically supposed to do them, and do them at all times. The same goes for rock concerts, tattoo conventions, playing the accordion, or whatever! Being a blackgirl comes with a unique set of baggage - on the one hand, we’re accustomed to being a minority in almost any situation a million times over. On the other hand, we feel like there are certain places and activities that aren't "ok" for us. Forget all of that, risk ostracization, and trailblaze for us all. We can’t keep saying "But blackgirls don’t _______" or else we’ll never do anything at all. Be YOU, regardless of whatever skin tone, sorority, thickness, neighborhood, or whatever you may be a part of. None of it is as fresh as plain old blackgirl you. [ummmm, BASICALLY. do what you want to do because it makes you feel tingly and warm all over. screw what everyone else thinks your blackness makes you. you're yourself. period. it feels good to own and love your whole self. there's nothing like it.]

3. DON’T Get Pregnant, DO Have A Baby. When people say "Life Is Short," they really mean that life is short – when you’re unencumbered. Life is really, really long when you’re tied down to some dude who seemed great when you were sixteen years old but hasn’t even made it through his baby boy years when it’s time to send junior off to middle school. In fact, it can even seem too long when you start to calculate the potential unpaid child support, the number of times you tried to "make it work for the baby", and the time you’ll spend child rearin’ instead of actually growing up, getting degrees, and making a name for yourself. Not to say you can't have a baby early and have it all turn out rosy in the end, but howsabout having children with someone who can actually agree to be with you in a family unit for the long haul whether or not you just happen to get pregnant? Sidenote: It should go without saying, but why even risk diseases by not protecting yourself? A baby is not the only gift that keeps on giving, you know. [again, the women who probably need to at least be exposed to this concept are not reading thembi's blog. unless thembi is posting her blog for the world on blackplanet or in the back covers of teri woods 'novels' so folks can at least impede their hurtling toward disaster. *shrug* you can't win 'em all.]

4. Know Your Own Hair. Black women have more hair options than almost anyone else, and we exercise them to the fullest. But even those of use who switch from weave to ponytail and from blonde to red would never dare to wear our natural hair in public. I can spend the whole day running errands and not see one blackgirl without a perm, and the same goes for watching television or opening a magazine. What is up with that? Granted, I went natural the easy way with the Philly soul thing being at my heart and a head of naps that never really took a perm quite right, but what pains me is when another blackgirl says to me "I love your hair! How long did it take to grow? I could never get my hair to be that texture. How did you do it?" The reality of it is, most of us don’t even know what is growing out of our own heads, and its very sad. Not one other group of people on this planet can say the same. It’s fine if you settle on a perm or some braids or even a Jheri curl after exploring your options, just get to the point where you can say that you know what your natural hair even looks and feels like before you aspire to be Beyonce by default. [it is IMPORTANT to know what your hair is really about. it is really important to style, care for, manage, and possibly even cut your own hair YOURSELF. dependency on a stylist is kinda, like, not cute. no matter what your choice of hair is. if you've got a natural and only ever wear microbraids or wigs or weaves because your hair is 'ugly underneath that' SOMETHING IS WRONG. love yourself enough to know how to do specifically what you want for yourself at all times. it's a liberating feeling.]

5. Get Out Of Town. I’ve met young women who have never left their cities, seen the ocean, or even set foot in another zip code. It’s not always cheap, and it’s not always fun, but the sooner you start traveling the better. In fact, this Lady Law applies to almost everyone of every race and gender. Make a list of dream locations and get started as soon as possible. The more time you spend in the same surroundings the less you understand about the world, and for that matter, what the world thinks of you – you’ll learn that you’re not trapped after all. Besides, you can’t conquer the world if you don’t know what’s out there, and it should be your goal to conquer it! Let the trailer trash of West Virginia confuse Mexicans with Spaniards and believe that Africa is a country and not a continent. Learn your world because it is yours to learn, even if you have to do so only an inch at a time. [i used to feel bad about not having hit every country i've wanted to by age 25. but then i met someone who's never spent a night in a hotel (even in his own city, which can still be fun and eye opening depending on where you stay), never even been to the airport (cuz his ppl never go anywhere or do shit), and was so amazed at my proclivity toward traveling to nyc on a whim that he nearly pissed his pants at the chance to go himself. i got over that feeling of inadequacy. i am gonna go where i wanna go at every given chance. this year: a conference in harlem, caribana in toronto, quality time w/ the fam at the jersey shore (you aren't a philadelphian without it), and a good girlfriend of mine is moving to atlantic city. it doesn't take a lot, except maybe a plan or at the very least the real genuine true desire. things happen for us all at the right time, when they need to happen. no need to rush to be amelia earhart, but you most certainly need to get out of your zip code. not not just to go to court.]

6. Don’t Get Called Out of Your Name. I’m not on this whole "we were queens" tip, but I know that none of us should be called or let ourselves be called any of the following: bitch, ho, trick, and on and on and on. Don’t sing along with songs about "makin' it rain" unless it's for the sake of irony. Don’t even participate in anything misogynistic unless you know it’s only a joke to you, and even then don’t ever pay for it. Recognize that just like when he talks about selling crack you're not selling crack, that when some rapper talks about his hoes he doesn’t mean you, download that song from Limewire, and keep it moving. And lastly, never, EVER call yourself anyone’s "baby’s momma." My first encounter with an ex’s grown BM involved her introducing herself to someone as such, and as much evidence as I may have already had that she was feeble-minded, giving herself that label sealed the deal. Don't be that broad. [context means everything, y'all. formal introductions should not ever in your life or your former partner's life include the words 'baby's mama' or any variant. that shit's not cute. my mom occasionally refers to my estranged father as her baby daddy because she thinks it's funny. she generally refers to him as her ex. big difference. also, the context within which we use the words bitch, ho, trick, etc. means a lot. a lot. if you're at a drag ball, bitch is thrown around liberally. it's culture. it's context. watch yourself.]

7. Act White. I won’t bother justifying this term because you all know just what I mean. Talk white by speaking the King’s English, using full sentences, and the most intricate vocabulary you can muster. Act white by doing well in school, participating in any activity that suits you, and playing musical instruments. Don’t worry, you will never, ever actually BE white. If it were possible, don’t you think that all of those people who were lynched and beaten back in the day would have white-acted their way out of it? [i am a second-generation 'oreo'. my mom said they used to call her white girl for being so precise with her english, and it's definitely managed to rub off on me and my two sisters. it's so serious that i have charged myself with the task of learning perfect, unaffected spanish so that i sound the best i possibly can to native speakers. i'm not playing. i know my vernacular, i have my moments where i'm like 'you ain't shit!' or whatever. but when it comes time for that good code-switching i learned in my school days (penn charter and project learn STAND UP!), i go toe to toe with the best. furthermore, i've always believed that excellent grades are the ultimate smack in the face to the very white ppl whom your brown/ black/ red/ yellow peers can't stand. fuck what the other black kids are telling you. strive to get that perfect score on the SAT's. i took AP art history senior year. it was liberating, despite being the only black student in the class. again: be unafraid of your whole self.]

8. Get What You Deserve Without Worrying About What He Deserves. This is a weird one. All too often women say "I’m not giving it up to him, he doesn’t deserve it!" But what do YOU want? While it’s not smart to just go giving it up to any old body, getting caught up in the idea that your sexual desires should be based on what men deserve is the exact opposite of feminism. If we only had sex when men deserved it we would be a bunch of bitter, mean, deprived wenches. Learning and maintaining the balance between withstanding pressure from dudes and getting yours is part of becoming a real woman. [get yours, boo. GET IT. you want to fuck the guy or gal who delivers the milk to your supermarket? does she or he meet or exceed your standards for an acceptable fuck buddy? nobody said you had to marry the motherfucker. go on and make it happen. if you make everyone jump through a bunch of hoops when you aren't trying to go far with their ass to begin with, you may find yourself bothered with the lack of good sex in your life. the key: having and maintaining real standards. truuuuust me. i had a dope boy as a fuck buddy. i never let him talk much, cuz he wasn't the smartest. but he met the standards: ready, willing, able, clean penis, proximity to my home, a deep love for cunnilingus. my standards have since changed, as have i. but y'all get the point. there's a difference between sleeping with someone who's a total waste of your time/ energy and getting yours from someone who simply isn't the boo of your dreams while still being a great sex partner. really.]

9. Don’t Eat That Mess. Our country is facing an obesity epidemic, yadda yadda blah blah. But it’s all so very real, ladies, and I’m as guilty as the next chick. The thing is, you can get fat and out of shape eating regular food and that’s damning enough. It’s the Chinese Store chicken wings and fries (saltpepperketchup or no), grape soda, chips, quarter water, or other mess. If you can believe for one second that AIDS or crack was planted in the black community to kill us, what do you think Crown Fried Chicken is here for? And your body may be able to metabolize it before you hit 25, but after that it's just a quick ride to Lane Bryant once you get addicted, so don't do it. [she is NOT LYING. 'regular' to most ppl is hyperprocessed foolishness that comes wrapped in plastics and wax paper and shit, then goes in the microwave. and that's just what you eat at home. not a good look. i live in a walking city, yet we used to be the fattest city in the nation. the problem: most of us are walking to get junk food. i have a warm(er) weather routine: walk at least 1 mile each weekday, whether it's on lunch hour or on the way to work or on the way home. it's at least a weight maintenance measure. the next issue is making sure i don't get high and wander about in search of wings and cookies at midnight when my ass needs to (a) be asleep or (b) eat a damn apple and go to sleep. the munchies are real shit. i think this city is also full of potheads who will eat anything that isn't nailed down. it's unfortunate, but true. if you have a crazy work schedule like mine, it's super easy to do takeout instead of cooking. it's pricey, though. and depending on where you live, you may only be able to get junk. the key is balance.]

10. Be A Lady. I have never been the most ladylike of blackgirls and most women like me can trace that to our upbringings, but it’s really very simple. It’s very natural for us to speak loudly, but it’s more powerful when used in small doses, just like hot sauce. Making that lip smack before you start speaking is not cute either, especially if it’s followed by a "weeeeeeeeaaaaal," twist of your neck, and then whatever it is that you have to say. By doing that, not only have you butchered the word "well," but whatever you have to say is eclipsed by that attempt to get attention and gear up like you need prep time just to speak your mind. Swearing every other word may be cute to around-the-way boys but if you ever want to get off of the block (see Lady Law #5), it won’t do you any good. Although every once in a while another female may make your blood boil, fighting is not cute – just think, aren't you way too pretty to get into a fight and get some gash across your face? I don’t think I need to caution young blackgirls on good grooming because we’re good at that, but do you really need to let all of that unravel just because some girl is talking about you? What does that even really mean? Like Katt Williams says, if you’ve got fourteen haters, you need to find a way to get sixteen! [i've never fought someone who didn't hit me first. i'll never be the one who advises a friend to go slap the shit out of someone -- that just is not my style. i believe in maintaining my relative freedom by not getting locked up. i also think it's lame to fight someone when you have a job, or rent to pay, or kids to feed. then again, anyone who needs to consider this probably isn't reading my blog. next up: lenée's life skills classes. after doula training/ certification and a bit more day jobbing.]

compulsory christianity, heterosexuality, & why i can't listen to the radio in my mama's car.

part of this comes from dark daughta's post on a particular video, the other part from having the distinct (dis)pleasure of listening to the "single & saved" radio program on my way home from my mom's last night. i don't like the idea that i have to be christian to be okay or a person of faith any more than i like the idea that i have to be white to be beautiful. i think that as i've aged & explored more of the world, i've gotten into a habit of questioning more things that have always been considered necessary by virtue of being long-standing. through this questioning i've been labeled a trouble making man hating feminist, a non-practicing lesbian, an untrue queer woman & heaven only knows what else. because i refuse to stick to one thing once i gain clarity. i question the answers too, even if i don't verbalize my inquiries. sooooooo, that brings me around to a few questions:

am i so programmed, that i don't know what oppression sounds like even when it comes to a song i like?
is the christian movement against queerness (especially amongst black americans) the result of a genuine understanding of homosexuality as a sin, or is it because the religion tends to describe heterosexuality & breeding as the purpose of humankind? short answer: yes. when ppl aren't hetero, they aren't breeding. when women aren't fawning over men & actively trying to be sheep that renders the men useless. the bible, in my opinion, defines human beings as here for roughly three purposes: serving god, breeding, and suffering until we get to heaven.
is it even possible for me to, once i start to deconstruct things that are oppressive at the root, to simply dig a song/ tv program/ movie? will everything strike me as possibly/ probably racist/ heterosexist/ homophobic?

(more later)

i don't feel like delving today.

that is, i'm cleaning out my closets literally but the figurative act of doing so is way too much to handle at the moment. there are things churning around in my head about becoming a doula, becoming a massage therapist, & about this evolution i'm experiencing overall. i am a crafter, a day jobber, a writer . . . all these things that seem to be vying for dominance in my life. i mean, the logic says that i'd be without a place to be all this "other stuff" without having a pain in the ass day job, right? but i could not possibly look fwd to leaving work each day if i didn't come home to my creatively-infused home, right? so much. so many things. i've got to be immediately occupied w/ working, crafting, healing (my tattoo is healing funny, but from what i surmise it's an issue of its locale on my body & not shoddy work by jason, but more on that later), loving, laughing, building & a bunch of other -ings before i can even think about becoming the fabulously & fully self-employed self i want to be 1 year from now. there's a lot. i don't know if i can say i feel overwhelmed, or simply unaware of where/ how to begin.
thankfully, though, i'm being held up by folks who feel inclined on a consistent basis to contribute in a positive way
i'm learning to juggle (& eventually balance) it all
loosing myself of things/ persons unnecessary
finding out exactly what it is to actualize potential in the face of what can only be described as the "no-you-can't" mass choir & its accompaniment, the faithful "i've-never-heard-of-that-so-it-must-not-be-valid" chorale. fuck 'em both; i've got work to do.
i'm letting go of the idea that i've got to get everything done all at once just because i think of everything all at once. this is not freaking easy. at all.
i'm learning process
practicing patience
trying my damnedest not to just up & quit the things i hate, though they get harder on the daily
i still feel like i'm waiting for my turn to jump into something. maybe a chute or giant water slide that leads to something with which i'm entirely unfamiliar. i'm less angsty about it, though.

i just wanna be fully ready to get this show on the fucking road.

feeling like my fulfillment is on hold

like i have to shake my ass a lil harder for those tips
smile bigger when they ask how i'm doing, so massa & them don't know i'm planning to leave
i'm growing impatient &
full of myself, certain that i'll strike when the iron is hot
my hands itch to pull at that other shoe, instead of letting it drop on its own
trying to slow this mess down just enough to savor the last days

i'm more aware now than ever of how this is gonna go down,
where my support comes from
what i need to leave alone
& ultimately, i'm fully able to see where i ought to be
what steps to take, where to plant my feet.

i just have to breathe & take care of this stuff first.
the babies will come
the money will come
the new home will come.

i just have to make it so.

crazy busy.

day job
craft job
tryna gather myself unto myself for this giftsmas (that's xmas or christmas to the rest of y'all) foolishness
i wanna redecorate
i need to redecorate
i need to pray more
i'm eating less bullshit
drinking more water
getting less sleep
this is . . . a lot.

& in the middle of all this i wanna return to volunteering, become an activist w/ the emphasis on activity, mentor a grown woman who's officially tryna enter this place we call the workforce, decide whether it's the netherlands or mexico city next spring/ summer, try to plan a move for spring, get better at styling my own hair, film a documentary, learn some portugues . . .
& still manage to give myself orgasms on the regular.

there's a lot to do. & it's going on 2 in the morning. i gotta get some sleep from somewhere.

i won't ever forget it: the beginning of the end.

the time he likened us working our problems out to the way we'd coach each other at free cell.

i wanted to smack him in the face w/ the keyboard at that exact moment, pack my shit, & walk the fuck out. but all i had to my name were some nickels (probably not enough for the bus) & whatever food i'd bought for the week. i couldn't go back to my mom's like that. but i felt it in my gut -- i felt someone telling me to leave.

lesson #1: always listen to your first mind, no matter how crazy you might look to everyone else.

now look, dammit

i don't know who all on earth might find themselves browsing this blog. & i know the language or the random rants about r. kelly might throw you off. you may even feel inclined to stop reading because i talk about sex freely & don't have any trouble discussing my occasional toke. but if there's any one thing you need to know about me, it's that i do not think domestic abuse is acceptable or okay in any situation. it just isn't. i'm not hearing that "he's a good person" shit, i don't care if "all she did was" hit you once. i don't give a rat's ass. it's not okay. the idea that your abuser has any redeeming qualities, to me, is a damn joke. they nullify all of those things once they choose to put their hands on you, once they put forth any effort to control you by using violence. i do not believe that there's any dialog to be had, there's no reason to try to work it out. the first thing you need to do is get away. the second thing you need to do is stay away. if there's a need to return to a home you share w/ the abuser, have someone escort you (preferably the police or other neutral party) & get your shit. don't negotiate. don't let the begging & pleading & all that other hot bullshit be part of the equation, if you can help it. get out, get away, stay gone. if there are children involved, of course it's not that easy. but there are ways out. please don't ever think there aren't. please.

this post was inspired by juanita bynum's interview with fox 5 atlanta regarding her having been attacked by her now-estranged husband, thomas weeks. she had a press conference the other day. i'm really kind of ecstatic that sis chose to announce that domestic violence in the church isn't just about the church, but something that crosses boundaries. i'm thankful that she can say that unflinchingly. i hope that she's genuine in her stance. i hope that she is really, fully okay with taking on the mantle of being an anti-domestic violence advocate. i really hope she's sincere. she has so many ppl who buy her books and watch her on tv, etc. she is in a position to demonstrate positive things to so many folks.
i hope she does turn this around.

on: comfort and safety

someone once told me i'm too attached to material things. this someone is male, black, american-born and raised, & claimed that it was absurd of me to care so much about things that were/ are mine. this person grew up w/ several siblings in a single-parent household & though i could identify w/ certain aspects of his stance, i found myself largely feeling like he never got what i was talking about when i expressed a need for what i call my creature comforts. for me to feel comfortable in an environment that i haven't designed to my liking, i tend to do what i can to create familiarity around myself. isn't this what most humans do? at a new job, don't you look around to see how or if your contemporaries have their workspaces decorated? when you come into a new apartment or house, don't you make it into what you want it to be & aim toward your ideals? creating comfort -- especially in my home -- makes it easier to cope w/ the many things that i feel daily (or otherwise regularly) assault me outside these walls. but maybe that doesn't matter to anyone else. not that it necessarily has to.

in this entry, dark daughta explores what codes of conduct for oneself do in the way of creating/ maintaining sanity & safety. she says: "I'm...slowly...raising...my hands...over...my head... I don't have a gun...a chainsaw...a hacksaw...or a knife...I've got words, thoughts, questions, a keyboard and a Code."

** i know this isn't finished. it may never be.

okay, what the hell is going on here?

after a good two months pass, you decide to make a request to see me? after i was ready to go all the way in, & let go of my idea that the next man i deal with is gonna have to be the permanent mate/ baby maker/ cohabitator deluxe . . . you wanna come over and monopolize my saturday? man, i don't know about all that. i have shit to do tonight. i haven't got a whole day to spend with you; i barely have 3 hours of my afternoon. i don't know about all this sudden . . . interest you have in me. you wanna sniff my neck & play fight on the couch like you haven't been fucking missing in action for two, almost three months? baby, you must have had a really bad trip or something cuz it doesn't work like that. none of our mutual friends or associates ever fucking knows where -- or more importantly, how -- you are. i am not comfortable with that. you sporadically pop up on AIM, or myspace. you don't respond to my now-defunct weekly e-mails? are you fucking kidding me? a three word response would be fine. don't be an asshole about this.
look, man . . . i don't think i'm there anymore. i wanted to sit on my couch and watch a movie w/ you because you're good to watch movies with. i didn't ask you to marry me, give me your sperm so i can become a mommy next spring, i didn't even ask you to be my fucking boyfriend. i simply asked you to be consistent and present. i asked you to be considerate and forthright. if you can't even do that, then what the blue fuck are we doing?
you don't meet my needs. you aren't complete enough to even begin to meet your own. i know you're hurt, i know there's a hole in your heart as big is the pacific ocean, but don't penalize me for that. don't penalize your mother or your sister for that, either. our mutual friends? they care about you. i care. i think maybe we need to press that button, the reset button, & start all over. at least try to, because it's too easy for me to just decide to stick my titty in your mouth and let my wet pussy do the talking. because i do miss you, & i do feel very deeply for you. but sex isn't gonna fix it.
you can't do everything i need/ want, but i'll be damned if i waste my time trying to wait for you to get it right. some things you can be taught, but some shit i'm not willing to school you on.
i'd rather be alone.

the willie lynch speech was a hoax.

see manu ampim's excellent paper regarding such here.

if you wanna email posts of mine, email this one. thanks.

okay, i get it:

i have to stay a little while longer. even though i don't want to. even though every day i find myself thinking that i'm gonna have to run away to new york or pick up all my shit & hide out at my mom's house for 8 weeks of intensive "i can't really hack it as a grownup" therapy (better known as working the same fucked up 12 hour days no fewer than 4 days per week, not paying ANYone's bills except my own, looking for a new job on craigslist & watching a lot of crappy tv w/ my sisters). it's really obvious. it is. i complained rather audibly to one of my at-work play auntie type coworkers & then in the afternoon, what happened? my division manager announced that basically she wants to utilize the knowledge of myself & some other support staff to turn us into . . . wait for it . . . are you ready? paraprofessionals. i know! basically she wants to find a way, even within the civil service system (which, though it is not inherently racist but definitely antiquated & still fucked up), to pay us what we're worth. make sure that our skills & awareness don't go to waste & ooze out of our ears. that's what her predecessor did. constantly. i can't say i'm terribly excited, because this is not where i wanna be for the rest of my life. i don't even wanna hit the five year mark (the very idea makes me nauseous as shit) at this place when i never intended to stay beyond two. at the same time, i've been itching for the opportunity to be smart for a living -- to really know that i come to work & use the talents i already have.
i complained & got a very obvious response. i'm like . . . okay, but i don't have forever. & i don't care who's a great coworker, who has my back, who really looks out . . . i hate complacency.
& i feel kinda complacent.
i don't wanna give this place the rest of my life, so i won't. i don't want to fester & just sit & stagnate. so i won't allow myself to.

& i'm having the hardest time understanding what might be on the horizon in regard to the work situation, but i'm gonna shut the hell up & say thank you. i just know what i really want deep down inside. i'm tryna learn patience so i don't rush into it just so i can say "i quit my day job to do this!"
cuz let's face it, i need to get the money up. there are folks i want to include in my plan who are currently doing other shit (hey karas!). there isn't any way i'm gonna even feel okay doing this without a few crucial things having been taken care of first.
i don't know wtf is going on
but i know the universe answered me before i even got to finish bitching.

adupe-o.

i'm back to

where i was about three weeks ago. only my thought process is fueled by a conversation i had w/ some sistas the other night.
i know there are systems in place to stop us dead in our tracks. literally, even. i know that it's sometimes so impossible to even see the top of that mountain made of disappointment, disaster, dreams, & desperation that climbing that motherfucker seems like a really sick joke. baby, i know what it's like to have someone smile in my face & wish to hell that they could call me a nigger but instead just say "sweetie," "honey," or "girlfriend." & i used to ache to know what it must have felt like to be acquainted w/ folks like my self, not just folks who looked like me. that ache grew.
the resentment, the annoyance, & the overall feeling of being fucked up in the game . . . those things were winning. i wouldn't let them, though. & i won't now.
because if i look myself in the mirror & decide that every fucking moment of my life is a war -- a war that i don't even think can be won -- then i may as well pack it up . . . particularly if i come out the front door swingin on everyone i can w/ my machete or cutlass.
by virtue of biology, i am a woman. by virtue of biology, i am black. & by virtue of biology, we have become targets. we remain targeted now. everyone with a lick of sense & deductive reasoning skills knows about the prison industrial complex, COINTELPRO, the big tobacco plots, & everything else on this entire planet which has been put together to snuff the poor, non-white, &/ or female.
yes, baby, i know.
but for me, that venom cannot be turned in on myself
it will not be the weapon i use to slash every hand that reaches out to give to or help me
i will not blindly love what looks like me exclusively because of that fact
it is not okay to hate
ever

cuz if they do it to us, & we do it to them, exactly what the blue fuck is that gonna get anyone?

it's not gonna give us any of the shit that's been taken from, beaten out of, drained from, or confused about us. we will not get back yoruba, igbo, twi, akan, hausa, fongbe, kiswahili, xhosa, or any other tongue. our wombs will not take back in the children of rape, nor will they serve as a place to hide the children that we don't want to be a part of this shit here. hate will not extract what makes you lighter skinned, her hair wavier than it is anything else, that baby's eyes bright green, what made malcolm's hair red . . . we can't undo it. mahatma was NOT playin one bit when he said that an eye for an eye would leave the world blind. cuz if we hate on them, & they hate us some more, & we all go back & forth when will we have time to love ourselves? how do we build ourselves up if we're wasting energy tearing someone else's shit down? believe it or not, there has to be room for everyone . . . if you believe in a creator, then how could you not think so?

i must ask this, because i like where i live
i love my people
& i've been in that position before where when i say i'm DAMN good friends w/ white women, i get that sideways look. & i have to brace myself for the cries of 'traitor,' or worse yet being shunned or pitied because i'm 'confused' about who's really got my back & who doesn't.
cuz the same sista i want to help with her parenting skills already thinks something's the fuck wrong with me since i don't dress like she does. the sista who has the same nappy hair i do, the same ntozake shange books i do, respects the gangsta of kathleen cleaver the same way i do . . . she's still poppin shit because she don't think hers stinks. because she's taking in superficial things about me & deciding FOR me what i should/ shouldn't be a part of. what part of the game is that?
& the biology isn't enough for any of us anymore. we don't respect each other by virtue of blackness, because we are not all in the same neighborhoods by virtue of such. we are all over the place because legally, we could be . . . & the status shit is SERIOUS in these streets right now. fuck the white folks gentrifying all over the nation, niggas is fightin niggas over what some niggas appear to have, be, do, want, or feel. & that, my dears, is fucked up. screw standing up for anyone who's willing to cut your ass down -- black, white, yellow, peach, beige, blue-black, brown, red, or other. i will not, under any circumstances, support destruction of others by virtue of my own dislike for how they carry themselves. not unless it's fully crucial to my survival.

i know what you're talking about, but maybe you've never experienced what i have.

i was born fighting,
i will die fighting
but in between, i will choose my battles.

i wasn't gonna write

about the whole n-word funeral thing that the NAACP had last week. but then i read in the little brother blog how phonte feels about it. i'm in agreement w/ mr. c oleman for the most part. that is, black folk will not magically be better on the whole if/ when everyone stops using this word. most importantly, it seems like treating the symptom instead of curing the disease. the subversion of language is pretty much the norm nowadays. case in point: "she's a bitch" by missy elliott, "o.g. bitch" by esthero, "the baddest bitch" by the ever-relevant trina. . . like, what about THAT word? everyone's all super emo after the don imus thing, as if his racism should be the sole catalyst for change around here. he blamed hip hop for the "nappy headed hoes" thing because he knew he could cop out to that. that motherfucker knows full well, just like any other thinking being, that the idea that black women are automatically whores &/ or have bad (read: nappy, kinky, etc.) hair came from white folks. some of us are reclaiming that terminology as well. so what, are we choosing which words we wanna flip for our own empowerment? has there been an international black folk conference about that?

cuz, yeah, there's been the store called niggas
& if i go to ghana some folks may mistake me for one who likes being called "bitch" or whatever,
but yo . . .

burying any of these words doesn't mean shit to me when the babies are dying the way they are. don't blame that on the word nigga. unemployment & desperation will not magically cease when we stop calling ourselves and others niggas, bitches, hoes, or anything else.
because even if i don't use the word, i know what i mean when i say "that motherfucker ain't shit," because i mean to insult or harm someone with my words. that's not contingent on the verbs, nouns, pronouns or adjectives. it's on me & the power that the person hearing them gives the words.
i don't know . . . let's not put a band aid on a severed limb, okay?
if we don't respect or love each other, the words don't mean shit
the acts mean everything
& who's to say there won't be another word to offend?

(i might come back to clean this up later)

*quick addendum: if i had written here about don imus as a cracka ass cracka, then what? ofay? honky? oyimbo? like . . . are we gonna bury those words too? cuz if we are then maybe i can clap my hands to the burial of nigga. otherwise, get out of my face w/ that bullshit & go DO something in the streets instead of being mad at what the streets are doing.

there isn't really a way to make it sound fancy

i'm about to go all the way in(to him)
there's very little reason for me to say no
& i think he agrees.

this is real amazin,
cuz about 3 weeks ago i was real low. feelin mighty bad like sofia in the color purple. flailing about, trying to reach something that i wasn't even certain existed.
... now, here i am.
grateful.

i still have those moments sometimes

where i wish my breasts were larger, my skin a different (deeper) shade of brown, & that the width of my feet were less.
there's nothing wrong with me, i know
but it feels like i haven't grown all the way into myself today.
i hope to.
i want to.
one foot in front of the other
eyes open
looking fwd.
i'll get there.

someone asked me once

why i'm not a christian.
i had to politely explain to them that my primary motivation is that christ's teachings, though valuable from what i've gleaned, are no justification for me to worship him. he was a man. i don't believe he was god's son any less or more than i am god's daughter. period. it's not a gender thing. i've never felt comfortable referring to jesus as my savior. i was the queen of gospel choir in undergrad & high school, but more because i love singing. i wasn't blaspheming; my faith in god is simply unshakable. however, singing "jesus is real" always feels like a conflict for me; the clark sisters' "you brought the sunshine" is one of my absolute favorite gospel songs but i harmonize along w/ twinkie & them because i love that song. it's kind of difficult to explain, but most of my girlfriends who're non christians feel the same way. especially those of us who grew up worshiping in what's considered the black american tradition. it's a given. you love god with all your might and the time to really demonstrate it is sunday at church. give god the glory, praise, and honor; your blessings are yours because he gives them to you. there's another component to that which i call the hurry up & wait factor but i'll get into that another time.

i learned to show my faith when i was a child. you must claim god, you must tell the whole world that you worship jesus. i don't know if it's an actual bible verse (i haven't read the book in ages & would like to dedicate actual focus to doing so) but i was constantly told by various church folk that if i were ashamed of christ, he'd be ashamed of me before his father. okay. so that, to my 11-year-old mind, was the ultimate guilt trip. i was fat, didn't have some extravagant relaxed hairdo like my classmates, had ridiculous acne & was NOT tryna have anyone else be embarrassed by me. so i learned all the dogma & put up the front like nobody's business. i was just waiting to feel jesus working in my life. i didn't know that everything is a blessing, even when it's not what i want. i was told that praying and waiting were the way to go. but i was a child. you know i prayed that god would exact revenge for me against all those rotten ass kids in my class who did me dirty. and by the time i was in 7th grade i couldn't believe that any of my schoolmates (or administrators for that matter) at blair christian academy were actual followers of christ by virtue of the fact that 3 girls were kicked out of the high school for being pregnant by the time i was ready to enter eighth grade. then, when went back to public school i had begun to realize that i was a christian at a christian school because i didn't know what else to be.
i felt it was necessary because that was the tone of the school, that was the culture, etc. we were not outright graded on how faithful we were, but there were always comments on my report cards about how i was growing in christ.
why did i have to grow in christ?
why couldn't i just grow?
it upset me. i loved anita baker's music and could not believe for one minute that god was gonna send me to hell for listening to secular music. i tried to shake myself of it. but i couldn't. tlc's first album was my favorite. i couldn't live without sneaking to listen to the chronic, the u.m.c's, or whatever was on the radio. when atliens came out, i couldn't get to my radio fast enough. i was making pause tapes until i graduated from high school. if listening to michael jackson's off the wall was a sin, then screw it. i'd have to answer to the lord for that.
i attended a quaker high school. the quaker ideals were much more realistic to me: the inner light, service to others, quiet reflective meditation. this was something i could really get with. but quakers weren't the right kind of christians, so i could learn about quakerism allllllll i wanted to. i'd just be out of my mind to attempt to practice it in that house. i was on gospel choir. that was the jesus showcase, you hear me? quakerism wasn't as christ intensive as many black folk like. so it wasn't goin down.

my grandmother died when i was 2 weeks shy of my 18th birthday. i think that, at that exact moment i stopped believing in jesus altogether. it wasn't about him taking her away from me; she had copd & was really gonna go anyway. i believed in jesus (or claimed i did) for her. she had to know i was bullshitting, though; who doesn't know a child that they've essentially raised? at any rate, her funeral felt crazy to me. i felt god all around me but couldn't call on jesus while i sat there and wondered why there was such a thing as an open casket funeral for anyone who'd been very ill. her skin was green, for crying out loud. i'm supposed to call on jesus when i know i'm finna have nightmares for months on end? nope. i had to tell my grandmother directly, "please get some rest, momzie. get some peace." she hasn't been in my dreams since. it's been 9 years.

as i entered my anti-organized religion twenties, i became everything that that embodied a sinner. i drank, smoked weed, picked up a cigarette habit, had all kinds of sex, cursed a lot, stole, & took the lord's name in vain almost nonstop. i felt good about my life. i never thought "coming to jesus" was gonna fix any of my problems. i knew it was incumbent upon me to make things right, to balance myself.

so as i began to do that, i found ifa. i haven't looked back since. i love my religion. i feel great about it & nobody's gonna change that. every day i learn a little bit more about the goodness of the universe.

maybe i'll edit this for clarity/ cusswords & make my mom read it. so she can understand that i'm not turning my back on god or worshiping the devil. maybe.

real quick

sometimes, i still wanna ignore
how hurt i was, & probably still am.
it's like a miles-deep wound, a scar across my belly
like i'm a leftover from somebody's massacre
if i try to think about it
i immediately begin to shake my head, "no,"
because it sometimes feels like i traded my sanity to have something else
& i don't even know what that something else is.

other days i'm thankful
full of joy & hopeful
looking fwd to trying it again some other time
when i have more to offer,
less to carry
& more love of self.

this year will make it five.

it's so surreal, because my brain still travels that path sometimes:
she would be five in december
i might be living in the projects or renting a shithole where i'm afraid to come home after dark
i know he'd be gone already, possibly a suicide, maybe another part of the murder rate
and there's no telling how i would be
because i wasn't fully myself back then,
i didn't know i that i was magic
i had no idea it was incumbent upon me to be the goddess
or to even respect myself enough not to let that be the case. ever again.

here's to the lost ones,
whom we tried to save from ourselves
for whatever reasons;
for my girls who've been through it, i love you & can guarantee that god loves us anyway, no matter what, all of the time.
look at the grace in your life. give thanks for where you are now.
you are a whole, beautiful, divine, capable, magical being.
you have the power to choose where your life goes. you are not bad. you are not ugly, you are neither a waste of woman nor are you scarred.
you are NOT used goods.
you are blessed.
you are not a coward.
remember that on the days it hurts the most. be glad that you're here.
somos luchadores, hermanas. somos supervivientes. somos guerreras fuertes.
please, i implore you, do not give up on yourselves. love you for all you are. you need to.

so that if you choose to go down that road again, you can hold your head high & be thankful that you're better prepared.
& that if you choose not to, you're at peace w/ that and can STILL hold your head high
because you're a child of the creator.

don't let anyone or anything take from you who you are.
every hair on your coochie, you have earned. through everything, you are your own. you are god's. we only do this stream of consciousness once. no do-overs, no take-backs.

so through the mourning, find that laughter & smile
get to the point of bliss
& be thankful

because you most certainly coulda curled up and died a long, long time ago.


(inspired by omi, who every day reminds me of who i wanna be when i grow up; for oyin, who is the most beautiful geechee woman i know; for melissa, who first held the mirror up to my face; for la flaca, who's stronger than she knows, & for sg whom i want to know that it's okay to let go of all of that bullshit.)

it's really awkward

being in the precarious place where i am at the moment. i feel as if i'm a pendulum. swinging. all the time, back & forth. sometimes a hand grabs me, & i stop right where i am. other times, i'm moving so fast that i can't even name what it is that's happening. i don't feel fully at rest, even when i'm vegetative on my couch. even when i'm stoned out of my mind, drifting off to sleep . . . i feel that there's still that back & forth. & i don't know how i was even set on this path. this repetitious bullshit to which the quality of my life has dwindled . . . i'm annoyed, to say the least. it's not that i expected some magical shit to occur between ages 21 and 30 to make me into the perfect adult. i anticipated lots of hard work, humble moments, debt accrual, etc. i suppose that i underestimated the impact. the weight. sometimes it's like the whole world is working against me while i try to get what the universe has in store for me. it's a very odd feeling.

all i really want is to be myself fully. no apologies, no excuses, no shame. i want to make the money at no risk to my integrity, nor to my sanity. i know that there is abundance to be had. i'm trying to get to that point. i don't mean just money. i don't want trappings of a fabulous life. i want to thrive. i want to be comfortable financially. i want to love what i do for a living. at the moment i'm at an impasse. my passions are social justice & the arts. it's not hard to come across people who're into both, people who blend both. i want that to be my life, though. my career. i now know what i have to do in order to make it to that point. god, i'm gonna be in school for a long ass time. we're looking at a minimum 6 years. dual undergrad degree (sociology/ spanish), at least 1 master's (lincoln university MHS, stand up!) & maybe a 2nd master's. i need to kick some non profit ass.

but first i gotta work on some recruiting initiatives @ the 'good city job' i have. the new division manager wants to utilize my skills, instead of ignoring the shit out of them. i'm geeked. i might actually like it enough to stay if i'm not doing a bunch of dumb mindless shit all day every day for the next 6 months or whatever.

fingers are crossed
eyes are looking upward
feet are ready to move.

i just want to keep at it. this whole being myself thing. it sounds easy enough, but when nearly everything you are/ stand for is the complete opposite of most of what surrounds you . . . it's hard. i'm a socialist at heart. i'm an artsy fartsy activist type of broad. i don't fuck with complacency or stagnation all like that. i am not gonna comply just because it's suggested that i do.

that makes my life anomalous in little ways. but how i choose to express that makes all the difference. we all know folks who stifle themselves in the name of whatever. peace & quiet at home, a high-paying job that they loathe . . . it's not worth it to me. i'm worth more. always.

i just wanna be honest enough, all the time, to embrace & live that notion.