You Ain’t Fly

There are some fine brothas in this world.

“French vanilla, butter pecan, chocolate deluxe… even caramel sundaes” -Method Man, Ice Cream

…with a beard, even better. Regardless of how fine dude is, however, he can’t think he’s finer than you. Nope. Houston, we have a problem.

For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself. -Galatians 6:3

Men and women alike are both supposed to put effort into looking their best. However, unless he’s doing makeup magic like the girls on YouTube who put on faces of shellac and polyurethane, chances are he had very little to do with his basic aesthetics. Talk a minute to an ignorant fine brother with a chip on his shoulder… it won’t matter how fine he is anymore. So much more goes into being attractive than your God given features. But let’s be honest, the rumor is there’s a penis drought and women are out here putting up with all kinds of unnecessary just to have a “man”. Even putting up with men who have it all twisted.

“Or maybe, baby, you just look too good for me. Don’t sweat yourself. – Al B. Sure, Off On Your Own

Pretentious men are bitches. Yep, I said it. No grown ass man who has responsibilities and a whole life to live is going to waste any of his time trying to convince you or remind you that he is the fine one on the team. Instead, because his job is to protect you from harm, even your own, he’s going to build you up… head to toe. He will call you terms of endearment, remind you that you are beautiful, and ensure you that you are enough just as you are. Only sad men choose women who they don’t find attractive… physically, spiritually, and mentally. So if he’s trying to remind you of how fly he is at every turn… as Too $hort would say “what’s my favorite word!”

Little piece of fact… pretentious men are also often hoes. Penis in exchange for pay. So they think that you are supposed to be so happy to be on their arm, that you should be the one taking care of them.

ATTENTION SIRS…absolutely and not!

There is certainly nothing wrong with both parties wanting a mate that is financially stable, but that is wholly different from him looking at you as his benefactor. Like a Sugar Daddy, a Sugar Mama wants something sweet. And there is nothing remotely delicious about a hobo-sexual (a broke ass dude tryna get on to get a meal or a pair of Jordans).

“Pay to the order of who?? Not you! Why? You’re not that fly.” -Tariq “Black Thought” Trotter, You Ain’t Fly

A fine brother with a heart of gold, the mind of a hustler, and the soul of light will woo you with his face and his finesse! He’ll pick you because you match his fly, not to fly past you to boost his ego. Furthermore, he will be clear that it is you, who are the prize and he who is the prize winner. He’ll know he’s fine, he’ll be sure of himself and all that he is, and aware of and working towards what he is not… and he will delight in the fact that your even finer ass is by his side.

Looking… at the Front Door

  1. Check your phone
  2. Stalk you on social media to see whose booty pic you liked.
  3. Sneak watch you texting people.
  4. Give a DAMN about any of that.

That’s a list of what I’m NOT gon do!

So let’s be honest. Black men don’t cheat my ass… they cheat, women cheat, Indian transsexuals cheat, Tibetan polyamorous bisexuals cheat. People are imperfect. People are stupid. People are selfish. People are tempted and weak. But what won’t happen, is me looking for your cheating.

Nope.

The cliches are true…

What is done in the dark will come to light!

If you go looking for trouble, you’ll find it.

But if you got a job, a life, take care of your skin, and drink your own water, you don’t have time to concern yourself with the transgressions of other individuals who don’t respect or care about your feelings and who give up.

Cheating is giving up. A cheater is a quitter. Instead of dealing with issues that arise they take your relationships trade secrets outside of the relationship and with it their intimacy, insecurity, and infidelity. Flag on the play! Now if you choose to forgive and move forward with that person, cheers to you! However, cheating, that is a deal breaker over this way.

But looking at attractive women, talking about attractive women, sharing with their friends, communicating with their friends… it ain’t cheating. It’s not something I care to spend any time worrying about… because you can be sure I’m looking at these fine chocolate brothas, talking to my friends about these fine chocolate brothas, talking to my friends when I need to, and checking on ALL of my people. I have zero interest in cheating on anyone, but I’m neither blind nor dead and fine is fine… okay. Most importantly, I am secure in mine. If you wanna give up this 80 and go get that 20, go ahead. But numbers don’t lie… only men and women do.

I’m a fan of not just emotional intelligence but sexual intelligence. The sight of a beautiful woman should be something you look at, it’s aesthetically pleasing, and ABSOLUTELY healthy and normal. If you looked at me that way, chances are you see all these other fine ass girls too. Finding someone attractive and acting on that attraction are two entirely different things. The ability to do the former without engaging in the latter… a sign of sexual intelligence.

So follow Big Booty Judy on Instagram if you want… but have some fucking loyalty… if the sneakers she has on with those booty shorts are fire… show your girl. Keeping that kinda stuff from me will get you thank you nexted. All that other, I’m unconcerned with.

But go sharing the ole bait and tackle… that’s a one way ticket to Nopelandia and I live in Yestopia.

“I say it now like I said it before
I’m lookin’ at the front door” -Main Source

Syntax, Semantics, and shit

This will be short(ish).

Now that we got that out of the way….

So yesterday I had this conversation:

  • Him: The BBQ is on July 4th at noon, is that right?
  • Me: Yes.
  • Him: My sister got your message that asked if she could bring paper plates to the BBQ on July 4th at noon. She is confused.
  • Me: Confused, HOW?!?
  • Him: Call her and explain what you need her to do.
  • Me: What about can she bring paper plates to the BBQ on July 4th at noon do you both not understand?
  • I could literally see the confusion ensue. Internal chaos took over the cerebral cortex. It was a battle against the brain cells and the words were winning. A beautiful mind… wasted on the lazy.

    Sighs and exasperation flooded my ear… sounds. Words got flewed out, but none that answered the question… syllables. But no signs of life… no syntax and not even a hint of semantics. We are the creators (more on that in a minute). Yet I find this to be an epidemic… the inability to formulate (one’s own) and understand (other’s) complete thoughts.

    I’m sure there are communication gaps present in every culture, but I’m particularly concerned with my own. I really really need us to focus on our use of language. It is, along with body language, a key component of communication. But when we are using telephones, text messages, and emails… I don’t get the luxury of seeing your confusion or scowl. So brothas and sistas we gotta do better. We are the architects of this shit!

    ————

    Quentin D. Atkinson of the University of Auckland and other scholars have pinpointed southwest Africa, Egypt and surrounding countries, as the origin of language. According to his research, there are more sounds in African languages, at approximately 100, than in other areas of the world. Sound being the root of all language, and as you track migration there are fewer and fewer sounds until one gets to the farthest location, New Zealand, with only 13 linguistic sounds. Other scholars point Psammetichus I, Pharoah of Egypt in the 26th dynasty, as the central figure in language creation. Similarly, Ancient Africa is the birthplace of modern written language, Egyptian hieroglyphs. Like mathematics and philosophy, Egypt is known as the place where all modern science began.

    This is our history: sounds and syllables, syntax, and semantics all swirling together to form a language. That Egyptian pendant your mom got you in the ’80s that spelled your name, that big ankh ring you wore in college when you got real Black and proud…

    …those hieroglyphs are the basic building blocks of modern language. Our style, art, creativity is all a form of communication… telling others how we feel, imagine, see ourselves and the future. We are so influenced by that, African-Americans have a unique vernacular with deep connection to Southern American states accents and style along with remnants of West African influence. Our current speech patterns, sounds, and word use are the modern artifacts of Egyptian sounds, syllables, syntax, snd semantics. So there is no excuse.

    We have become lazy. Everything is about the instantaneous. We only want to press buttons. You can order a movie, dinner, groceries, and a ride with the press of a button. You can talk to a therapist, a psychic, a doctor, a stylist to plan your ENTIRE wardrobe, or a life coach to plan your LIFE with the press of a button. We can get cars out of vending machines. It’s the Jetsons, except we still have to put on our own pants and drive a car on the street. And yes, you have to talk or write, process and understand to communicate. No one is going to do that for you. There is no Shipt for talking and listening.

    The BBQ is on the 4th of July at noon.

    That’s not hard.

    Let’s do better. And if you know a Black person who can’t read… each one teach one. Looks like I got two people to reach out to.

    Oh… don’t show up at my house, I made that shit up! And it wasn’t that short.

    I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T

    “…Do you know what that mean?”

    They make songs about us.

    ***

    Her: But why does he give the woman who has it all together a hard time?

    Me: CUZ he doesn’t have it all together.

    Oh, and because he’s stupid. YES, I said what I said… I can repeat it if you want me to. HE IS STUPID. He probably comes from some level of stupid. He has seen stupid. Someone accepted stupid, a lot of stupid. So he thinks that shit is acceptable.

    ***

    *The Boss*

    You have it all, a good job or business, a nice home, a nice car, bad ass shoes, and a stellar closet. You vacation, you are probably VERY single, meaning you have no kids and have never been married. You are gorgeous. You are intimidating… and being intimidating is not your issue. It is his.

    Your friends wonder why you are single. Men ask you “what is wrong with you, why are you still single” (by the way, that is the DUMBEST question in America and if you are a man and you ask any woman this question, may you be struck down with great vengeance and furious anger just for being so dumb). You work really hard, but you play hard too. You are social. You get it in, so you aren’t waiting for Mr. Right to break into your house. But yet, no one approaches you… well the really ambitious dudes who need a lot of dental work and a vehicle, they do, but they got absolutely nothing to lose. Shoot your shot bro, I’m not mad at you. But you know who is gun shy… the brotha with it all. Why? Well…..

    Insecurity. Men are taught that they are providers, fixers, workers, and breadwinners. They get tow trucks and tool sets, puzzles and video games…toys oriented to a task. Girls get dolls and makeup sets, books on babysitting and jewelry… toys oriented to taking care of others. So they see you doing what they think is primarily their job… and have nothing to do. If you make more money, are more educated, work more… it doesn’t fit with their idea of how men and women work together. So they retreat from you eventually. That is what anyone in a position of insecurity would do. All of this while trying to assert your position in the workplace from hating ass white supremacists, crying ass white women, other crab ass Black women, and stuck between race and patriarchy Black men. You are constantly having to prove both your worth and your dedication. So the last person you need to assure that you are apart of the team is your man, when you rock his bedazzled jersey and cheerlead from the sidelines every chance you get. That insecurity will get you kicked off the team every time!

    Plus, fellas… Khadijah don’t need ya stuff, just you. You were her choice… emphasis on WERE!

    “Kinda woman that want you but don’t need you…” -Neyo, “Miss Independent”

    *The Mother*

    So you and dude are rocking with each other, and then you have a baby together. He has other kids who are well behaved and well taken care of, so it seems like baby will be a welcomed addition to your relationship. This could even be the case where you both have children from previous relationships, but the time has come to introduce the kids into the equation. It seems pretty simple, be my man and be a father{figure}… right? NOPE, not all of the time. You see, it depends TOTALLY on who that man has been allowed to be before… the precedent has been set.

    A man who has previously been TOTALLY in charge of the relationship, knew that that woman needed and required him to provide for both her and the children or the children might not make it… at least not as well as they have with him around. Knowing that his presence creates that safe haven for her and that she needs that provision, means that his efforts in other parts of the relationship… romance, communication, social activity, just not being an asshole… could be temporarily put off at his whim.

    Then here you come!

    At first, your independence is welcomed, it is refereshing. He can sit back and not have to worry about taking care of you quite in the same way. However, the ways that he needs to take care of you, he only knows how to provide on a temporary basis… and when he now has someone else to take care of or consider, that is when he goes on hiatus with you. For several reasons, I believe. The first being that he goes back into “being in charge” mode… without the realization that he cannot be in charge of you. You ain’t the be in charge of me type. The second is that, being in charge feels good to him, and it allows him to feel okay about being mediocre. With you, there is no in charge, so being mediocre does not feel so good. And who wants to feel bad, on purpose? Lastly, he has not had to do ANY HOME WORK on his women in the past, so he has done none on you. Think about it, how well does he know you? Can you be honest with him? Vulnerable? Do you tell him when you are hurting, or better yet does he already know? If the answer is no… sadly, you might have picked an okay father, but he cannot be a good man to you and a good father too. In fact, with you, he is probably slacking on his pimping in both areas… simply because being around you doesn’t feel as good to him as it did before BK (before kids). You got everything on lock, even with the kids in tow. You bringing home the bacon and frying it up in the pan. He doesn’t think he fits in…

    Well sir, get in where you fit in.

    “Cause I depend on me.” -Destiny’s Child “Independent Women”

    *The Single Socialite*

    When you move, they move, just like that. And so it goes, you got the key to city, your plate stays full, and you are on every ‘by invite only’ list. You love pictures, you love a good drink and a good song you can twerk to, and you hate a name dropper… because you are the name. Okay you get it. Anyway, you are likely a serial monogamist … you meet and greet, they work hard to sweep you off of your feet, but somehow you always end up standing in your Loubs, with yourself. You are never really by yourself and you love your me time, but for whatever reason no one has presented you with the perfect glass slipper. Why?

    You too are intimidating, which also isn’t your fault… but in a different way. Men who think they are ready for you, usually quickly find out that unless they are okay with stepping aside and letting you shine, they will be in your shadow. So one of the rules of a lasting relationship is not to compete with your partner, if I win, we both win. And while that sounds good, and it is good, in practice, it often does not work quite like that. Movers and shakers tend to be competitive by nature. While women tend to be more community minded in their success, men are much more individualistic, so it may be hard for him to see himself as in a successful partnership and not the successful partner. He feels like he has to one up you, so instead of being partners you end up adversaries. He likely goes in to find someone in awe of his position. But he couldn’t see that what you built for yourself you were willing to share, and as your partner he didn’t need to compete. You don’t need a savior or someone who out does you, but someone who lets you shine, because he’s confident in his own shine.

    “They buy the bar too, they superstars too” -Webbie “Independent”

    ***

    These are just some examples… but independent women often find and feel that they get the short end of the stick BECAUSE they are independent! There is some truth in that, but the bigger truth is this: Go for yours, be able to take care of yourself and teach that to your daughters. The man made especially for you will find you, realize that you are that good thing he has been looking for, and he will boss up! Stupid dudes are just around to teach us lessons, that’s all. Until then, handle your business, upgrade, secure the bag, drip, stack, and hustle hard. And when bae finds you … let him take a flight in yo choppa!

    First Corinthians & Thirteen Flavors

    I don’t know much, but I am 100% sure that most of my romantic partnerships have been the stuff of movies or Marsha Ambrosius song lyrics. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

    I have moved across the country. Wayyyy across the country.

    I have been married. That’s it, just married.

    I have had love professed to me in the streets, over speakers. “You make me wanna…”

    Had men drive in winter ice storms across states to see me.

    I even had a man give me his social security card with his phone number on it… I can’t call this one.

    And every man I’ve dated says… you are the one who got away. Naw bruh I didn’t get away, I probably just left, but whatever makes you sleep better at night.

    Ladies, you too can have a yard full of boys…

    Okay, that is clearly not the point here. And I’m currently looking out the window… there is just one boy out there tending to the yard. But he too deserves that same energy that made those other guys want to order from the menu.

    Patience

    Now anyone that knows me WELL is side eyeing at this point. I’m not generally known for my patient disposition. Most of us consider patience this ability to wait on, deal with, or tolerate something we don’t want or didn’t expect without becoming upset, complaining, or reacting with haste. That isn’t who I am. When we accept behavior disrespectful to our time, mental health, emotions, or body, that isn’t patience, that is sacrifice. If it results in you being tired, feeling used, losing yourself, being unsure… it’s not patience, it’s a burden.

    I was very disappointed, but remained patient while Michael put our relationship on hold.

    But patience that seeks to better the overall relationship or the people in it and that has an end goal, is a compromise.

    My son doesn’t like math, so I remained patient as I helped him work through fractions.

    “Love is patient.” -1 Corinthians 13:4

    It is unselfish, and doesn’t just seek what is self-serving but what is good for everyone. It isn’t self-sacrifice, or putting up with things you detest or don’t deserve for the happiness of another. It isn’t indifference to the offenses of another, because ignoring someone’s misdeeds doesn’t help them grow or become better. Instead, it is the love of God, “slow to anger” and “faithful”. When you truly love someone, the things that could frustrate, disappoint, or injure you must be met with a loving response, every time. In turn, that loving response will be met with a compromise from your partner to change as well. Otherwise, that partner is simply not worthy of your partnership.

    My Grandparents were married over 60 years. My Grandfather lived in a house full of real talkative and real opinionated Black women, my Grandmother especially. She could be verbally harsh and critical. She wanted to be the center of attention, and would steal it if necessary. She wore a sequined beret and a mink like it was a uniform. Yet he was fairly quiet. He observed. He kept things running smooth in the house, changed light bulbs, built stuff, drove when we went out as a family, and when too many lips were moving, he retreated to his jazz room and listed to Charlie Parker, real loud. I think he went deaf trying to drown out the voices. She could be difficult to get along with, but for all of her unnecessary ranting, she cooked him great meals and generally left him alone to his hobbies. He wasn’t quite a social butterfly, but he was a provider, and he defended her when the rest of us were ready to explode. To outsiders it could have seemed an odd arrangement, but they compromised in their own way for the sake of the union.

    I followed the lead of my female relatives, and spoke my mind, often. In doing so, I learned to make sure I verbalized my needs over my wants and ensured my partners needs were simultaneously heard. I sincerely wanted what was best for the partnership. I allowed them time and the space, once I figured out that space was necessary to correct and get better, realizing I too needed time and space at times. Having seen it, I knew what it looked like. Again, in my house the generous allotment of space and time to replenish oneself was practiced not only in partnerships but along all family relationships.

    Few men receive such patience in most areas of their lives after their teen years. Suddenly, they are expected to work, long and hard, and take care of, provide for, protect, commit to you, make room and space for family and friends, keep the screws tight, the lawn mowed, the snow blowed, and you smiling, and then use whatever is left to do all the growing and maturing, demanded and necessary to navigate the world. They are often fed incomplete notions of what being a MAN is, and then enter relationships with those unrealistic expectations on top of our expectations. We expect for them to be emotionally open, communicative, and tender… the antithesis of what many of them are told and definitely what they see growing up. Most men need the peace to be able to process needed changes, without words of frustration and disappointment being thrown at them. That’s not conducive to growth or change.

    Love begets patient, and patience begets peace!

    Not to be mistaken with “be his peace”… what I’m talking about is other level peace, not just some hashtag shit on Twitter. Peace is quiet and nurturing. In the midst of peace you grow off the charts, you mature into wisdom, and you learn truly how to bestow love unto others. So if you demand something of him, give him time to self correct and bring you what you need. If you want more time with him, let him know, and allow him to figure that out… it might get worse as he figures it out, before it gets better. If he has wronged you, stand up for yourself for the better of the union while acknowledging your personal feelings. If he is pushing you away, let him know your boundaries, and if he respects them, stand by his side so he feels your presence… if it’s meant to be he won’t ever go far.

    You don’t have to wait, tolerate, or deal with. If he is as interested as you are in the health and success of the relationship, he will meet your growth and change while actively participating. All you have to do is relax and reap the benefits of his compromise… or use that time to do work on yourself as well. That level of patience demonstrates faithful trust in someone. A man knowing he is trusted by you brings a sense of peace. A man having to deal with your distrust is the stuff of chaos.

    So, call him on his bullshit in a loving way and give him time to self correct… and be open to the same. Apologize when you are wrong, self correct, and demand the same. Then get to loving. “It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres” and brings all the boys to the yard! Be careful though, they always come back to the yard too. Milkshakes are addictive.

    This was free, next time “I’ll have to charge!”

    Black Mixed with Black

    “I’m light skinned, but I’m still a dark n!%%#…” Drake

    I love this line, cuz people have assumed my whole life that I got it easy cuz I could check several boxes on the race question and no one would question it… but the only thing I claim is the only thing I am… Black.

    I got two Black ass Afro wearing Black power fist raising parents. My mama dropped me off at high school bumping Ice Cube… my mama. We had Black ass records in the house… Miles Davis, Coltrane, Aretha, the Isleys, and brown Michael Jackson, and Prince before the Just for Me relaxer. We had Black ass food… franks and beans, tuna and peas, hot water cornbread and fried chicken, black eyed peas and greens, cabbage and corned beef, and that big ass yellow block of cheese on occasion. We had Black ass books… My mama had Soul on Ice on the bookshelf and my granddad had The Miseducation of the Negro, the two I remembered most, among the other Baldwin, Lorde, Giovanni, and Black Panther penned books. We went to Black ass places, Eastland, the African World Fest at Hart Plaza, and Shrine of the Black Madonna. I know nothing else, but who and what I am. My folks were educated and had good jobs and demanded I be well educated; that’s not unique to White people. We once had wealth in our communities. During segregation we were forced to do business with one another and create our own communities of necessity. We have been going to college, been doctors and lawyers. We have been marrying across the spectrum… Loving v. Virginia in 1967 was almost 100 years after Kinney v. Virginia in 1878 which held their interracial marriage in Washington, where it was legal in 1874, as a violation of Virginia law. So all of this “ain’t Black enough” shit is garbage.

    Somewhere between the Middle Passage and Emancipation, we lost who we were. Although we had escaped slavery, because we weren’t just freed it was definitely a freedom mission, we were still mentally enslaved. Black people were never afforded these unalienable rights and liberties; “we the people” didn’t include us. We have been forever entangled in a web of racism so tough that the simple ratification of an amendment could put us right back into chattels. We were robbed of our history, not allowed to read or write, so we only knew we were slaves. We were were actually descendants of royalty. Our ancestors created mathematics, language, and science. Egyptians from gold to blackened brass hues, taught the masters of philosophy and deeper thought, ideology, math, science, and sociology. It’s hard to love yourself when you have only been told you were valueless, so in the nature of humans who despise themselves, we turned on each other. But regardless of where we toil, we are still Black. I’m still a Slave in the house… with no rights, no control, and easier access by the massa to the bloom under my bloomers. “House nigga, field nigga…still nigga.” And yet, after educating ourselves to the highest degree, we still are mentally enslaved. Now that we know who we really are, instead of fighting against one another, we need to rise up against theses racists who impregnated our minds with self-hate and colorism… and take our power back. We need to stop this Black enough rating system that we base on shit that doesn’t matter… I’m Black enough if I’m Black, I support Black people, I’m proud of my Blackness, and I identify. Period.

    I’m Black mixed with Black and I’ve had my loyalty to the cause questioned because of traits I had nothing to do with. I can’t help a privilege, but I can surely acknowledge it and let you know that I’m uninterested. I can earn everything I get. If you are going to give me anything, let it be because I have done something to earn it outright. I am uninterested in your bias against folks that look like my Father, my Grandfather, my beautiful Aunts and cousins who just happen to be on the deeper end of the complexion spectrum because we span from milk to coffee and every latte and macchiato in between. But if I’m given anything because of my genetics, trust that I’m sharing it across complexion lines, and using it to put myself in a position where I can combat the very thing that got me in the position.

    I got Black ass art on the walls. Black ass books in my library. Black ass records and songs in my Tidal playlists, cuz I support Black folks with Jackson Five nostrils who marry beautiful Black Queens and have kinky haired babies who go out with their fro out. I quote Amanda Seales, Issa Rae, Killer Mike, and Soulja Boy cuz they by culture and for the culture. I’m bad and I’m bougie. I like beauty supply earrings and authentic Gucci bags. I only shop at markets but I listen to trap music on the way. I’m looking for a trap Pilates or trap boxing class if you hear of any… and I like my men educated, Black, hairy, with a grey jogging pants and Timbs section in their closet next to the suits, and non-hotepian. I have a Black man and a Black son, who I support and love without fail or question. I’m smart, educated, dope af, and Black as hell!

    So judge me and everyone else who is Black with that in mind. You don’t know my story, his, or hers. If I told you:

    -I almost died because being Black and female and pregnant isn’t taken as seriously because we had babies in fields and huts and shucked corn through labor. I was Black enough to be ignored.

    -I have been discriminated against because I’m Black, female, a Black female, and an educated Black female. I was Black enough to the racists.

    -I carried a Black male baby while carrying a Black man, and my back still hurts from it. I was Black enough to support Black men inside and outside.

    -I have been cheated on, lied to and lied on, wrongfully accused, stolen from, harassed, threatened, and assaulted by Black folks. I was Black enough to be mistreated by my own.

    -I have dressed in all Black to handle the enemy.I have dressed in all Black to protest the enemy.

    -I buy Black with intention.

    -I speak up for Black people and Black women in ways I don’t broadcast, beyond my Facebook rants, that have harmed me personally but I still carry on because it’s necessary.

    … would you discredit me because I don’t look like what you think that woman looks like? Trust me, I know where my own loyalty lies, and if you let other people and your assumptions tell you who I am, I guarantee you’d be wrong. This is just my story, but we all have one. And all of us, whether we acknowledge it or not, have been Black enough at some point to feel the pride of being Black and experience the pain of being Black.

    This Black ratings scale, are you Black enough trash is hotep shit at its worst. Black attempts at supremacy is rancid poison, and a by product of White male supremacy that some Black folks have accepted to feel superior in a world where we lack power. Hoteps, both male and female, have latched on to supporting Black folks who belong under the jail, then criticize anyone who isn’t in blind support of every wrong Negro man, especially those who wrong Black women. I proudly despise any attempt to lessen who Black women are in the name of patriarchy, of any race of men, Black men in particular. All that hotep shit will get you cussed out and deuced really quick. Thou shalt not pull your dick out, be a Nazi, or be a hotep. Those three things apply to hotep high priestesses as well… no amount of sage, crystals, and head wraps will save you from being called out. The rest of us are tired of you and want to call the delegation to order every time you rear your ugly head to oust you from the kingdom. Just call me Jon Snow… I cut folks off at the neck clean. Besides, Winter is coming (well this week it arrived) my tan has worn off, I’m back to my original color, and I gotta fight off the Night walkers and shit who dare challenge me my Blackness. I ain’t a killer but…

    -Signed, everyone Black person ever labeled, questioned, or assumed to be low to non-existent on the “Black enough” scale.

    Eunuchs got us Twisted

    This won’t be popular with some men, and I don’t give a fuck. I’m stating facts… and if the facts fit, smoke ’em (if you got ’em)!

    ——

    European men started the colonization of the Americas in the early 16th century. During that time, the predominant thought was that the areas of the world formally owned by the Roman Empire, particularly those in the East, were uncivilized until Romans brought their intellect, order, and laws to those regions and made them civilized. That shit was wrong… civilization started in Egypt… but it was the popular thought.

    So in that same vein, when European men set foot upon American soil, despite being welcomed, fed, and taught to sow the land by Natives, they soon sought to impart similar rules, laws, traditions, and values into the American fabric during colonization. The chastity of the female was one such social construct that sexualized everything under a woman’s clothing. The same men who had images of bare breasted goddesses in every square foot of their most revered institutions, wanted those women under their control, afraid of how they would lose power if women, their most wanted treasure, were free to empower themselves. That was civilized.

    When feminism erupted into social consciousness, women who dared burn their bras were labeled as wild, promiscuous, man-less, even lesbian… in some attempt to force their own women to remain under their sexual and social control. Aside from the penis, men’s bodies were acceptable to be displayed publicly. Women, were expected to cover themselves ankle to collarbone. The absurdity… But absurdity is the hallmark of patriarchy, born out of fear of loss of power and ego.

    So it goes, just the other day, I had to free myself from absurd conversations about whether women should cover themselves in the presence of men while they breast feed… because men are so titillated by breasts they cannot control their stares and certainly not their inadequate thoughts EVEN when a woman is using her breasts, her mammary glands, her milk-secreting organs by definition, to feed her baby… MILK. Go figure. Breasts relegated to sexual objects because men say so. How apropos.

    So, I get it.

    Some of ya’ll men are afraid if you give women any credence, value, power that you will effectually castrate yourselves. Your dicks will cease to be the powerful weapons of mass destruction your egos have fooled you into thinking they are. Those notches in your bedpost will no longer read like battles won but boyhood foolishness you have dragged along behind you like Linus’s blanket, as protection of your fragility. You are weakened by the yoni, so you call us bitches to relegate us to our parts, then find every imaginable way to keep us socially, professionally, and politically barefoot, with our legs up and our hand stirring a pot, as possible. And better yet if our breasts are out, but only when you deem it appropriate.

    But I got news for you… we will be titty free when we deem it appropriate, not you. Nips at attention… about face… FOH!

    Women are the life force.

    Your little armless and legless soldiers have to infiltrate our very own version of the sun to start life. We carry every person on the planet in our womb. We decide what you ingest the first nine months of your life, and often until you learn the word NO, we continue to. But clearly we didn’t leave some of you in your shitty diaper long enough for you to smell it’s stench. Yep, your shit smells. These same breasts you cannot control yourself in front of, fed you nutrients that strengthened your brain, your bones, your muscles.

    I am raising a male child. I care about his education, health, and overall well being. But specifically I care a great deal about what kind of man he will be. That he will respect women. That he will value women. That he will lead a woman in family, but not attempt to control her to make himself feel more like a man. Instead, supporting her choices, feeding her what she needs to be the best woman she can be, will be a measure of his manhood… not his ability to dictate to her. He likes breasts already, that’s cool, but he’s seen a woman nursing her child he knows that there is nothing remotely sexual happening, it is a nurturing act not a sexual one. I don’t play that HAN mess in my home!

    What is civilized is not oppressive. Condemning adult women to a level of purity even you don’t require of your male children is the stuff of peonage. Respecting women includes freeing yourself of these ridiculous notions of patriarchy. Women are not your property, our bodies and their ability to be controlled by you are not measuring sticks for your little penises. Your dick doesn’t make you powerful, your heart and mind do. So while you are still living in medieval times, women are out here feeding our babies without scratchy and suffocating blankets over our babies heads, wearing what we want, doing what we want, and expecting you to support us like we have been supporting you for the past 2018 years AD. If you aren’t interested in that, we will just be Kings our damn selves… the kind with breasts, making eunuchs (pronounced yoo-nicks) of you clowns. Off with his head.

    “You know I give you life” -King Bey

    Love Let Her

    I have loved and I have lost, but no loss has ever compared to the power of the love you have given me.

    You have given me life. You didn’t give birth to me (thanks Mom… my head was big… blah blah blah), but you have birthed me into this flawed beautiful creature. Neither perfect nor a failure, neither my best or my worst. You accept me as is, while giving me space and place to grow. I am better because of your presence.

    You awaken me each morning with the promise of more.

    You feed me morsels of joy. You play sounds of musical mastery in my ears. You display aesthetics before mine eyes, often too beautiful to bare. My skin gets sweaty from your warmth and goosebumps from your chill. I can smell goodness wafting in the air when you take over the room… a sweet and spicy blend of black pepper, peony, and oud. I am overjoyed by your sensory experience.

    You

    …support me like a harness.

    …protect me like a shining knight.

    …forgive me for my debts.

    …give me grace when I’m impossible.

    …and let me know I’m possible.

    You let me soar to the highest heights by giving me assurance that I won’t free fall!

    You let me dream my biggest dreams, because you are there to help them into fruition.

    You let me shine bright like a star you placed in the heavens just for me.

    You let me love because you loved me when I was most unloveable.

    Dear God, it’s me, Karyn.

    A Poetry Moment: Friends or Foes

    If I’m Barack, She’s Biden

    Got a body, let’s get to hiding

    She got a rap, I’m the hype man

    Might add or multiply, never dividing

    What about your friends?

    We go together, like hip hop

    She’s bass, I’m treble, issa bop

    Take that, That that, we don’t stop

    A coaster and a platter, we that doo-wop

    What about your friends?

    All I need is my girl friend, Bonnie & Clyde

    Thelma and Louise, she’s on my passenger side

    The Duke to my Rocky, sitting ringside

    No matter who’s driving, always down to ride.

    What about your friends?

    Be Clear…

    I am a woman…

    I smell good, my touch is soft, I can whisper the grocery list to you and make you close your eyes and see stars… it’ll sound so sweet. My hair is fluffy like nimbus clouds. The curve of my waist a perfect place to lay your head… my derrière the best armrest or like a handful of cotton candy. I can love you long time and make you love me at first sight. I can nurture you into comfort, and calm you like peace. But, my darling, be REAL clear…

    I can put down tile

    I can pull up carpet

    I can change a tire, but I don’t ever want to!

    I know what a carburetor is and the top pick in the NFL draft.

    I have a degree in psychology and one in hard knocks

    I take shots

    I can beat you in spades

    I might not outrun you but I can hold a plank longer, guaranteed!

    I drink ACV straight even though it tastes like lighter fluid, but wellness…

    I bleed monthly and don’t die or cry or want a band aid

    I balance checkbooks and lives

    I can smash tacos and margaritas

    I make a bomb ass macaroni and cheese from scratch and a pretty decent pound cake

    I have carried shit as heavy as me on my back

    I have carried you, if not physically, emotionally

    I pushed a person out of a tiny hole

    I am raising a person to be whole

    I love

    I give

    I speak up and out

    I pray

    I scream

    I cry

    I will fight

    I hit hard

    I can get real cute in heels or sneakers

    I can rock pajamas like it’s my job

    I bring out the best in people

    I bring out other’s insecurities

    I rock hard for humanity

    Yet I can drop you like a bad habit, cold turkey

    Healing is my ministry

    Love is my passion

    I can sink ships

    And I can launch rockets

    I’m a rocket launcher, ya dig

    I’m a boss

    I can run the world.

    … I am a woman!