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june 2017 ::
i came from your pussy –
first one to come from your pussy.
didn’t it hurt when i came from your pussy?
so helpless, all bloody and squishy
i was screaming and crying.
what a joy ー
you passed me off like a baby doll
and i am not a toy.
you once looked so happy though.
you see, what had happened,
you gave up so quick on ya girl
i’m not sure if you planned it.
i’m not tripping because
goddamn girl you so craaazy
and if i was around you more
i don’t think i’d be this lady.
maybe i’d be famished from no love from you.
It doesn’t really even make me more comfortable, because now I feel like I have to dissect your admiration and see where it comes from. Is it a fetish? Is it cultural appropriation?
Regardless of the context, generalizing a group of people and the demeanization & commodification of those people is what created this mess and this paranoia in the first fucking place.
In all honesty, I’d rather you not say that kind of shit to me. I’d rather you say to me that you’re a non-discriminatory kind of person and that you believe in equality and you see beauty in all shades.
If you want to say that you think that colored skin is beautiful or that you enjoying studying African American history or the history of African countries, but to just say “I like Black people” makes me uncomfortable and suspicious.
It’s like saying “I like pizza” or “I like traveling.” That’s the kind of thing you like that goes without saying. You just like that shit. for whatever reason but I don’t suddenly feel like you’re a better person because of it.
People say “I like Black people” as if it’s some shit to be rewarded for — like I’m supposed to be impressed or feel connected to them.
However, if someone says “I don’t like Black people”, I find that to be just as controversial. Either way, I would think “WHO TAUGHT YOU THIS? WHERE IS THIS SENTIMENT COMING FROM?”
Oh, but I’m supposed to be so grateful and appreciative that someone can feel confident & revolutionary enough to tell me that they like Black people. I’m supposed to feel like this person is “on my side”. I’m supposed to feel like this person is on that #BlackLivesMatter vibe. I’m supposed to be happy and smile when someone says “I like Black people.” I’m supposed to say “Thank you.” We aren’t supposed to question the implications of these kinds of statements. They want us to just take what we can get.
Not sorry, bro. I’m not blindly fucking with that. That kind of talk doesn’t turn me on. It doesn’t make me feel good. It doesn’t make me feel bad however, it’s just suspcisious.
We have to talk about it. These conversations are necessary. Black people aren’t here for you to “(dis)like”.
I had a dream last night that I was in a church and the choir was singing some song that possessed me. It was beautifully hypnotic. All of a sudden, I see myself walking up to the front of the church and my conscious self is terrified watching this scene lucidly. It was surely a nightmare in action, seeing myself about to profess my desire for “salvation” by a “God” that only communicates with humans through “His Only Son”.
I tried being “Christian”. As much as I love some biblical scriptures and the story of Jesus, I realized that I felt more conflicted trying to identify as being “Christian” as I would HAVE to dismiss qualities about myself and always have to look at myself under a microscope, and allow the religion to eat away at my being like a parasite. Anyway, no offense to anyone who can manage to identify as being Christian or any religion for that matter. I just know that for me trying to be a devout Christian was an internal nightmare.
Too often, I’ve met these types. Sometimes I’ve loved them. I wanted to do so. They were allowed to be loved, of course. However, I’ve used all my allowances. I will no longer allow myself to drain my energy trying to make the world a better place by attempting to teach man-boys about spectrums. I am a retired instructor/therapist at the “International Fuckboi Rehabilitation Center”.
So, to speak on “these types”, the fuckbois… The man-boys who like to portray themselves as enlightened and understanding. They like to portray themselves as the “Love Wins, BLM, Black Girl Magic, Pro Black, Woke…etc” intellectual, free spirit, artsy type. They are attracted to my boldness and shaved head. My mystery. They like to comment on my strength and how it’s so becoming. They like to tell me that I’m beautiful with such context that suggests that I needed affirmation from them, because oh of course, they make the rules & determine what’s beauty. I fucking know I have star power already. Then somehow, they will try to tear me down, when I challenge some absurd comment that slips from their lips. They have said “that’s just how men talk”. They will then be taken aback when I am not moved by their sweet nothings which reflect the instinctual arousal of their flesh. I am otherworldly, sir. Do better. I am not stimulated by your penial banter that you mask with predictable prose.
They will try to challenge my abstinence and my sensuality; as though the two can’t coexist. They have tried to manipulate me as a result of their own insecurities, because they wanted to control me with such cruel efflictim. I still can’t believe that they believe I love my breasts because they fantasize about them. No, you imbiscle. I love them because they are apart of me. It’s just that simple.
They have tried to judge me because my complexities made them uncomfortable because it was not a part of their bullshit formula on how I should behave. I have disappointed many. I have offended many. I have only grown to love myself and the many undefinable ways I can be woman, black, and human.
I watched this piece & felt so loved — so understood. I truly want to forward this to everyone on the planet. Let’s translate this to every language. I would cc the fuckbois first. They need to see this urgently. Watch this overwhelmingly accurate piece, directed & written by Cecile Emeke, a woman of color using film to provoke & inspire ~
fake deep | cecile emeke
I’m grieving. So many people are grieving. Nobody should be allowed to feel removed from what’s going on. These are structural issues. These issues affect foreign politics. These issues affect us all — overtly and/or passively. These killings and unjusts are real. Not some staged reality show that we can gossip and hashtag about. Although, it’s so repetitive & hateful that it seems staged. When in those moments, as the gun is in the face of the hunted, they can assume that the end scene will be their final scene. A fatal ending is the re-run. No more re-runs.