A Message to my Hurt

When you let the wrong people in,
They decimate your mind—
The type of people who attack your dreams,
Attack your worth, attack your goals...
When they start, you kick them out fast
Lock the door and never look back,
But their real weapon was planting seeds—
Self doubt turns me into the attacker
The most dangerous enemy one can have,
And suddenly I'm attacking myself...

Photocredit: Unsplash.com/Eric Ward

Race and Racing

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.2 Timothy 4:7 CSB

The world is racing forward
But for me and my sisters it hurts too much...
Synapses in my brain are overwhelmed
My arms and legs are heavy—
I've been running too long
Without nourishment, without rest...
Other people stop to view the sights
Society pours in to them
And they are well fed;
I am depleted and done,
But the road winds on without end.
We've come so far and yet so far to go
Can I find the will to move
     one step
     two steps
          Closer?

Photocredit: Unsplash.com/Braden Collum

Unpretty

Unqualified sources give unsolicited opinions
And there's a too in front of every adjective—
We're too dark, too light, too thick, too thin,
We're too tall, too short, too shy, too sassy,
We're too plain, too flashy, too modest, too sexy,
We're too smart, too dumb, too strong, too emotional—
How did you get in our head?

Confidence in self can only be born in the conscious of self
And you'll discover you're just right in every way—
Just the right amount of melanin, just the right curvature,
Just the right height, just the right personality,
Just the right style, just the right amount of class,
Just the right intelligence, and just the right way to feel.
Let that marinate in your mind...

So when those voices creep in voicing ignorance
Sowing seeds of doubt in the crevices of your mind,
Reject the negativity, reject the jealousy,
Reject the belittling, reject the hate,
Reject the images, reject the doubt,
reject the ordinary, reject the pain—
It's time to reclaim the thoughts floating in our brain.

Photocredit: Unsplash.com/Clarke Sanders

Imposter Syndrome

Everyone else is in their purpose;
Everyone else is plugged in to the same circuit,
But I got my wires crossed and blew the circuit...
Everyone else seems to know what to do;
Everyone else is following some unknown rules,
But I keep using all the wrong tools.
Everyone else is confident and strong;
Everyone else never seems to be wrong,
But I don't fit in, I don't belong...

Everyone else is looking at me;
Everyone else can't see what I see,
And I'm moving from space to space freely.
Everyone else is hiding their doubt;
Everyone else is afraid to stand out,
And I find every opportunity a chance to stand out.
Everyone else sees that I'm trying my best;
Everyone else is weighed down by their stress...
And I look just like everyone else.

Photocredit: Unspalsh.com/Christina

Doubt

Photocredit: Unsplash.com/Matthew Smith

I have doubted—
Let a foreign voice enter my mind
And seduce my sense—
Who is this speaking words in my mind?
Who is this trying to subdue me?

I have doubted—
Failed to believe in Your power
Manifesting in my senses—
Who am I to receive your power?
Who am I that you would help me?

I have doubted—
Allowed insecurity to take my life
And become lost without You
Who can lead me back to eternal life?
Who can light the way to save me?

Connecting to My Past

I used to wonder about my ancestors,
Felt so out of touch with where I came from.
Didn't know names or faces,
Couldn't fathom these far off places...

Reading these white-washed textbooks,
Got me wondering about this melanin deficiency
Is it Rape, or some type of Pocahontas idiocracy?
Another missing connection I'll never understand.

Photocredit: ShutterStock.com/Andrey_Popov

400 years, 200 years, 50 years...
A change we can believe in?
But when I turn on the news
Its all still there: every tear, every view.

Face down in the cement—
Move to the other side.
Keep your mouth closed;
Look at the ground...
Are you gonna die like a man,
Or die like a slave?

I used to wonder...
What they looked like, how they felt
How they'd made it
With the crappy hand they were dealt...

Then I looked in the mirror,
I looked on the TV,
And I saw them
Inside and around me.

Media Girl

That image of a woman, perfectly styled just so
Or her hair done up fancily, or her face painted to just the right shade
So men and women alike marvel into her beauty—
How she could be so fair and unblemished
That she could wear any gown or compliment any style
Or maintain such a perfect hourglass figure
Or tame the fly-aways of frizz in her curly coils
Or walk with such ease in towers of terror
Or smile when the world continues to pull her down
Or if she's really there, if she's even real at all.

Who Am I: the Revision

Earlier this year I posted a poem called Who Am I. It captured the a portion of what I was feeling, but there was something lacking. So, I turned it over for a critique on Poets of G+ and got some great feed back. Here is the newly edited version.

Image from HDWallpapers

Who Am I

I don't recognize her—
Red curls prancing,
Freed of brown straight jackets,
     scrawled upon the broken glass—
Rust tarnishes the frame,
Like the eyes peering out
     rust brown, bright but hidden
         those are not the eyes I remember...
Who is she?
Hiding in the realm of reflections deep—
Because she doesn't look like me,
     talk like me, think like me...
     who is she?
She is strong where I am weak
But then again, weak when I am strong—
If I could trade places,
Tag in and out like a game
     an hour behind solid glass
     for fifteen minutes of solid change?
If we shared this world,
          invisible but invincible—
     together we are mighty.
But who is she?
I dig deep to uncover her
Pull her from the depths,
     trace the curling cracks
And discover an image
          from the pieces of reflective glass...
But I am afraid--
     if I push too hard,
     if I search too deep
This old mirror will finally shatter
And the girl behind the glass will disappear.

Who Am I

I don't recognize her--
The girl in the mirror;
She doesn't look like me,
     talk like me, think like me...
          who is she?
She is strong where I am weak
And then again, weak when I am strong--
If I could trade places,
Tag in and out like a game
If we shared this world
     together we are mighty
          invisible but invincible--
Who is she?
I dig deep to uncover her
Pull her from the depths,
From the pieces of reflective glass...
But I am afraid--
     if I push too hard,
          if I search too deep
The mirror will shatter
And she will disappear.

Not Like You on Display

All is dark,
Yet I am there--
Center stage,
Hiding in the bosom
Of a deep red flower...
And the audience is a-chatter
Unaware of my presence,
Waiting for the show to begin--
My show, my life...

The flower gave birth to me
Under the spotlight
On the cue of violas
And there I stood
With awe struck eyes--
And the audience was surprised
This little alien girl
Before them startled
Dazed and confused...

Despite the confusion
The curtains continue to rise
The orchestra continues to play
And the music soothes the air
It's my stage, my show
I don't know what they expect
Leave the audience to reflect,
On the life of this alien girl--
Just began only moments ago
Deep breath, command the stage.

Stronger Than You Think

I'm stronger than you think I am--
Gotten myself out of a few jambs
And the longer I live, I see
I can move mountains when I try
Lift them from valleys to the sky
Because in me I can believe
When I find this strength I never knew,
This change in me from whence I grew--
And with this strength, I fight to be.

I Know Why

I know why the caged bird sings
Why the steel constricts so heavily around
And the weight of the air on delicate wings
Rubs away at their softness--tightly bound
To suppress the worry of unadorned kings
Who cage beauty because they are not crowned
And the bird's song is the gem they seek,
The treasure they possess, but cannot keep.

I know why her wings will not break,
Why in the midst of ruin she will always rise--
In fear she will not fold, she will not quake
For the strength of God is buried in her eyes
And the sound of her song soothes her wake;
Let not the coming darkness be a surprise,
When the last rays of light caress her battle scars
As the sun sets, fading between these metal bars...

I know why a brave and startling truth must come
Why it's hidden there in the notes of this bird's song
Bellowed and swallowed by vocal cords numb
From the consistent denial of right from wrong
Strained and beaten to a mournful hum
That voice keeps singing, keeps beating strong--
She will not stop, allow her soul to be reduced
For the lock must be broken, the chains loosed.

I know why a woman and bird must be the same
Why times are different but people are unchanged
In a world where everyone and no one shares the blame
Left amongst the evils of men, mad and deranged
She weeps in her song for the passing of this horrible shame
Exploited, forgotten, and in the end always shortchanged
Her song never dies, will never falters--she will always be
Proud, strong...a caged bird, a woman phenomenally.

Maya Angelou
author and poet
(April 4, 1928 - May 28, 2014)

The Way I Wear My Slave Hair

The ability to reduce your own genetics

To words and phrases someone else created,
And devour your own culture
With the fuel and ammunition of someone else's hatred--
     How did we fall so far in our purpose?
We let the world embody badness in our image,
Allowed ourselves to be brainwashed
That we turn away from our own reflection and grimace...
We assign attributes to our natural features
Let the world paint it as the poster child for evil
And set the course of our entire existence
On a feature we were born with for a purpose and a reason--
We exist in some vicious cycle,
    breeding self hatred,
For if my hair is but a crown of unkempt shame
Then my skin must be the mark of the devil
Unworthy of beauty or respect or acclaim.
We unwittingly cage ourselves in this box
Of a description falsely forced upon us
But accepted universally--
     this parade of caged souls
We pace; we walk around the world in uneven ruts...
Will we dig ourselves so deep?
Burry our own corpses out on display,
Make a show for the world to enjoy and criticize
While our children sink further
     and further in our decay.
This ability that plaques us--
Stalks us like an epidemic wrought with frailty and death--
Will we break free of its ungrateful shackles
Or cultivate our own demise even in our last breath?

Physical features such as hair should never be symbols of certain attributes. It's ridiculous to say "slave hair" just as it's ridiculous to say black skin is evil skin. [As always this is a specific example; the principle is colorless.]

May The Odds Be In Your Favor

April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.

What do you say when no isn't enough,
What do you do, when actions aren't heard--
And if the odds are not in your favor
How do find yourself when the situation is lost?

If the blame fell on you, simply because
No one believed the betrayal you claimed
And your motives were questioned
Your entire life placed on display
For the world to examine...

How do you cope when the world
Is still deciding what is and isn't--
What you should and shouldn't feel
If you are or aren't responsible,
And the odds are not in your favor?

Do you scream, do you fight,
Do you lock the pain away in a secret box
And hide your shame from prying eyes--
Suffer in silence to avoid the world?

Do you ever become whole again?
If the odds were never in your favor?

Photocredit: Awareness Gallery

References

1. "Sexual Assault Awareness Month". National Sexual Violence Resource Center; visited April 2014
2. "Violence Prevention". CDC. 2012
3. Soraya Chemaly. "50 Actual Facts About Rape". Huffington Post. October 26, 2012
4. Carrie L. Lukas. "One In Four Rape Myths Do Injustice Too". Independent Women's Foruml visited April 2014.
5. "Sexual Assault Fact Sheet from". Office on Women's Health; visited April 2014
6. Michael Winerip. "Stepping Up to Stop Sexual Assault". NY Times. February 7, 2014
7. "Recovering From Sexual Assault". Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network; visited April 2014
8. Emily Yoffe. "College Women: Stop Getting Drunk". Slate. October 2013

Isolation Ward

I'm alone,
But it isn't dark
It isn't cold--
I can breathe,
Stretch my roots
Farther and farther
Absorb nutrients and strength
From the space around me
And be comfortable...
I am only one--
A beautiful number
In its singularity
Unique, one of a kind
And that may be me
Just for now
Or always and forever
But I'm happy
Here, in my solitude

Impossible Dreams:

Spotlight on Paul R. Williams

Don't let anyone tell you
Your dreams are impossible--
Because they will; and it may be true
But miracles are made possible.
Born in the wonder of stubbornness
And cultivated with persistence
A little hard work can be the spark
To an arsenal of fireworks...
The bursting of potential
Lit by the fire of accomplishment
Blazing in the sky for all to see
And you can gloat or remain humble
Knowing you've done the unthinkable.

Paul R. Williams

Who Was Paul R. Williams?

Paul R. Williams was told as a child that he couldn't be an architect; he quoted his teacher as saying "Who ever heard of a Negro being an architect?" [1] Orphaned at the age of four, Williams went on to study at the University of Southern California where he won an architecture competition at 25 years old [4]. Against the odds, Williams opened his own practice in 1922 and became the first black member of the American Institute of Architects in 1923. In 1957, he would become the first elected black Fellow of the American Institute of Architects. Managing to avoid a hard hit during the Great Depression, Williams became known as the architect for Hollywood stars [2]. Among these stars were Frank Sinatra, Betty Grable and Cary Grant, from whom he designed homes [3]. He designed approximately 3000 buildings [2]. Williams also had a hand in the design of LAX (the Los Angeles Airport) [2][4]. In 2004, USC's Black Alumni Associated opened the first exhibit to be devoted entirely to Williams [1]. He is quoted as saying "If I allow the fact that I am a Negro to checkmate my will to do, now, I will inevitably form the habit of being defeated." [4]

References

1. Shashank Bengali. "Williams the Conqueror". USC News. February 1, 2004
2. "Paul R. Williams, Architect". The Paul R. Williams Project; visited 2014
3. Richard K. Dozier. "Black Architects Have a Rich American History"; African American Registry; visited 2014
4. Jackie Craven. "Biography of Paul Revere Williams". ThoughtCo; visited 2014

La Belle et la Bête:

Spotlight on Saartije Baartman

La Belle et la Bête...

Admire me from afar and take note—

My skin, my hair, my face, and my curves

Forget the heart beating in my chest

Judge me, if you will—

Berate and condemn as you "ooh" and "ahh"

Born and bred, incubated in the womb of envy

Your unwanted eyes may hasten my steps

Or give rise to second thought
Even if I know where your hatred lies...

A second glance in the mirror

Maybe I have to stand there for a minute,

Gather my composure before I step away

Convince myself of my worth 

And know I am not limited to your standard.

I am more than what you see—

More than my skin, my hair, my face, my curves...

And while I may not be your beauty

I am certainly not your beast.

Sara "Saartije" Baartman

The History of Saartije Baartman

Saartije (also known as Sara) Baartman was born in South Africa and taken to London, England where she was put on display as the "Hottentot Venus." Hottentot is a derogatory name given to the inhabitants of South Africa that had cattle [2], while Venus is the Roman goddess of love. Unlike Venus, Baartman would receive both admiration and abuse throughout her life (and even death). Baartman was both orphaned and widowed before leaving her teens causing her to become a servant. Later, she was smuggled to London by a British military doctor hoping to make money by displaying her "abnormal" body features. Placed on stage in almost no clothing, Europeans admired, ogled, laughed and otherwise obsessed over her anatomy (particularly her butt). Faced with the choice of continuing to be exploited as a source of entertainment but receiving some pay and a tiny bit of freedom or return to South Africa and servitude, Baartman chose to stay in London. To cope with her decision, she took to alcohol [1]. It is unknown however, if she ever received the payment she was promised. Eventually she left London for Paris; at the waning of her popularity in France, she was forced into prostitution [2]. Shortly after, she died in December 1815 and even in death her remains were used for a hypersexual and grotesque post-mortem dissection [1]. For 160 years, her remains—which consisted of several jars containing pickled body parts—were left on display at the Musee de l'Homme in Paris. In 1974, her remains were finally removed from public display. In 1994, Nelson Mandela requested her remains be sent back to South Africa, but it wasn't until 2002 that they were returned and buried [2].

While women in general  face exploitation even in our current society, 2013 was a year that sent people reeling in controversy over the exploitation of black women. Two of the most covered issued came from Miley Cyrus' already controversial VMA performance and Lily Allen's video for her single "Hard Out Here." Both performances consist of the artist surrounded by black women who are obviously being objectified. Whether from Miley smacking their rear and "popularizing" the twerk craze or the scantily clad and still twerking dancers ala Lily Allen's video. Of course both artist deny any mal-intent, but that didn't stop many from being upset and concerned that black women will always be objectified [4, 5, 6, 7]. Whether these artists were simply ignorant and naive to their actions or intending to make the point many accused them of, the truth is we as women should be united in the fight against our exploitation and objectification.

References

1. Caroline Elkins. "A Life Exposed". New York Times January 14, 2007
2. "Sarah Baartman to be honoured". Brand South Africa. February 27, 2009
3. "Sara "Saartjie" Baartman". South African History Online. August 16, 2013
4. Laura Cox. "Lily hit by race row over sexist video 'parody': Singer faces controversy after using scantily-clad black women in promo for latest track". Daily Mail. November 14, 2013
5. Ray Rahman. "Lily Allen defends her new video against racism charges". Entertainment Weekly. November 13, 2013
6. Roxxxie Maneater. "Solidarity is For Miley Cyrus: The Racial Implications of her VMA Performance". Jezebel. August 26, 2013
7. Tressie McMillan Cottom. "Brown Body, White Wonderland". Slate. August 29, 2013

Sacred Part of Me:

Spotlight on the Natural Hair Movement

Locked in an air tight box,
Put on display for the world to see
The Pride Tree is cut and pruned,
Kept at the height the world requests
Starved--
Withering from the inside,
Its disposition becomes a disease
We begin to accept as nature
And we allow it to stunt itself.
Give those roots water,
Its branches, fresh air
And new life arises, thrives
Green in its unique leaves.
Remove the cage and it grows
Free and proud, tall and beautiful
Strong--
Just like other trees.

Lauryn Hill

Solange Knowles

India.Arie

As of late,  there has been an increasing interest in the care and keeping of afro-textured and/or curly hair. Madam CJ Walker is widely known as the first to produce hair care products specifically for our hair. The 60's and 70's iconic Afro was probably the first push towards natural hair. It became synonymous with the movement of black political activists and black pride. Yet within the black community and outside of the black community, natural hair was/is often met with harsh criticisms. The current "Natural Hair Movement" is more than just a political statement or temporary fad, but a chance for us to learn more about ourselves,  as well as appreciate who we naturally are. Current natural hair bloggers and vloggers such as Curly Nikki, Naptural85, Chime Edwards, (just to name a few of my favorites) as well as celebrities like India.Arie, Lauryn Hill, Solange, etc. provide a plethora of information as well as inspiration, not just for blacks, but for curly haired people of all races. Learning to care for our natural hair and being proud of it is a huge step in the healing process of being black in America. Unfortunately, little black girls everywhere are still getting told their hair is inappropriate [6,7,8,9].

References

1. "Madam CJ Walker". Biography; visited February 2014
2. Melissa Haris-Perry. "Melissa Harris-Perry's Hair Journey". Ebony. January 27, 2014
3. Nikki Walton. "Curly Nikki". October 2008
4. Whitney. "Naptural85"; visited February 2014
5. Chime Edwards. "Chime (Hair Crush)". YouTube; visited February 2014
6. "Teacher Cuts Off Girl's Braid In Front Of Class". WISN 12 News. December 11, 2009
7. Rebecca Klein. "Tiana Parker, 7, Switches Schools After Being Forbidden From Wearing Dreads". Huffington Post. September 5, 2013
8. Susan Kelleher. "Daughter taken out of class at Thurgood Marshall Elementary; parents have lots of questions". Seattle Times. June 4, 2010
9. "Vanessa VanDyke Could Be Expelled After Having Her Hair Mocked". Huffington Post. November 26, 2013

Overlooked & Overpowering:

Spotlight on Blanche Kelso Bruce

Scraps, cast aside as trash
Purposely overlooked and discarded
Lonely, in their unfilled lives
Grow weary of their label.

Were not they once grand?
Were not the grand once poor?
Thats when trash overthrows
Some ill fitted label,
Redefines itself and shows potential
Clamors up the ladder of success
And looks convention in the eye.

These scraps are a foundation
Strong and unpredictable--
An underdog waiting to arise--
They have nothing left to lose
And the world is theirs to gain.

Hold fast, theirs is majestic strength
To defy old definitions and rise.

Blanche Kelso Bruce

Blanche Kelso Bruce was born a slave in 1841. After gaining his freedom, Bruce worked in a variety of fields including teaching black children,  becoming a cotton planter, and becoming involved with politics in Mississippi. He served as the superintendent of education, supervisor of elections, sheriff, as well as many other important positions before being elected to the U.S. Senate, where he served from 1874 to 1881. Bruce was the second black man to be elected to the US Senate (Hiram Rhodes Revels, also from Mississippi was the first), but the first (and only) to have also been a slave and the first to preside over the Senate [1]. Since 1789, there have been 1.949 senators [2]. Of those senators only 26 have been of a minority race and only 9 have been black. Currently there are 6 senators that identify as a minority race, 2 of which are black: Tim Scott, SC and Cory Booker, NJ [3].

References

1. "US Senate Biography of Blanche Kelso Burce". United States Senate; visited February 2014
2. "Senators of the United States". United States Senate, pg. 35; visited February 2014
3. "Ethnic Diversity in the Senate". United States Senate; visited February 2014

Self Conscious

Double, triple, quadruple check--
Look back in the mirror one more time
And then when my face flushes
Run back to the mirror to confirm
My paranoia...
Are my words the word I want to say?
Do you I sound as stupid as I feel...
And yet the smile on your face
Is discomforting in my aggravated state...
I put on the confident front,
You wouldn't know how nervous I am
If it weren't for the shift in my eyes
The flutter of my hand,
A twitch of an eye...
I know you're seeing something different
Something I can't see
And I'm scared of what it could be.