Press play, then read what the babies are saying...
Ain’t no daddies where I’m from it’s just mad mothers
And eyes that still seem they can’t look past color
Why am I disrespected by someone I should call brother
And why girls feel unpretty and constantly hate each other
Bad air in my lungs, man I can’t breathe
My eyes burnin’ from all the dirt and the debris
And it’s third degree, I’m motionless on the scene
It’s like a disease the way ya’ll killin’ me
I’m sixteen and I shouldn’t have to feel like this
I’m sixteen every young boy out here want to kiss
I’m sixteen and me and my mama going through it
I’m sixteen on the block, sixteen on the block
I’m sixteen at war (6)
I’m sixteen on the block, sixteen on the block
Around here cool is another word for fool
If he smoke, then she smoke, I gotta smoke too
Now what would I do if I didn’t have a clue
I’m sixteen y.o., asking God oh why oh
If my clothes ain’t tight, then he ain’t gon’ like me
Eyes on the prize so the next girl dress just like me
I’m so full of promise but why promise
If I’ma just be rewarded by bad actions
To him I’m just a transaction
I want you to love my mind, my smile, my style
I want you to know the best of me
I want to belong without being treated like property
Why does it seem like fantasy?
They speak loudly and clearly... there wouldn't be Mother's Day without them.
If you haven't voted for me in the Virtual Spoken Word Showcase, you still have time. APOOO <<---Click there and follow the link to vote! Thanks in advance for your support.
16 at War by Karina Pasian
Lyrics courtesy of lyricsreg.com
song courtesy of youtube.com
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
I participated in a Virtual Spoken Word Showcase sponsored by APOOO Books and Urban Echoes Entertainment and now it's time to vote---->
It calls me--
Y'all don't understand, I said
it calls me,
from the back of that part of the brain that determines my sanity,
handing me illusion after illusion of
misproported distortion it calls
with legs parted like shallow waves,
days of unwashed crevices left by an unsanitary hooker.
Should I listen?
Its message unclear, its intent misunderstood--
Could this vision lack reason?
See, the mechanics of the situation make me panic like a fiend
Scheming to get that next high, I
prowl like mary jane
penetrating manure, an illegal nigga garden.
It's starting to whisper in my ear more often.
It's starting to make my decisions for me, poorly perpetrating my character,
dominating, scared of the possibility that I might contradict its demands,
And- I- Am
TOTALLY influenced by its nuisance.
WE ARE ONE
It led me to that alley where I blessed my pipe with holy sewer water, washed in my peers’ blood,
no one cried when my spirit betrayed me,
when I existed as whole, yet stole on demand,
took food out my own kids’ hands, slept with man after man and pranced around like not a damn thing was wrong.
Its instruction turned to psalm,
Biblical hymnals, pew splinters in my ass,
fire at my heels ‘cause I'm going straight to hell.
Might as well hit another lick--
I'm not tired of this shit.
I'm gone lie and steal, take what in me was killed.
Fuck a Jesus, I'm the resurrected,
that nigga temptress the grief in Momma's heart, causing conflict in her psyche.
easily identifiable, I'm liable to reek all kinds of havoc.
My paradigm is crime waves and dope sprees,
extracurricular sex and green leaves.
Please Leave Me Alone,
I did this shit on my own.
Now the mental separation that’s penetrating my being is beating me,
it's beating me
it's being me!
This poem is dear to me as it was initially written and performed for a group of chemically dependent women whom I'd encountered while on an internship at a chemical treatment facility. I owe all inspiration to them.
Special thanks to Yasmin Coleman and Marcus Harris for having a wonderful show!
Again, click APOOO below to vote (for Darnetta a.k.a. Genesis) and please feel free to pass along the word! You can copy the link in your browser and paste it into an email OR you can use the email feature provided by Blogger.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
By all means, I'm no expert on parenting. I can't even claim that I'm really good at it. Shoot, I have my own problems with my hormonal teen, artsy eight year old, and a two-year old who uses 'ignorant' so much I find myself thinking of him when someone says the word. But I do know what I know, and I know that I think a lot parents go about steering their children in the wrong directions.
For example, summertime is approaching and parents are scrambling to find camps for their children. The parents I've encountered are foremost interested in getting their kids out of the home so they can continue working regular hours and get a much needed break from parentdom. No real harm in that, right? Not too much, but there is harm because half of them are sending their kids away to places the children are not interested in attending. The harm comes in if the brainy 10 year-old isn't very interested in horseback riding. Why not send him/her to a science camp or someplace his/her natural (or acquired) talents could be enhanced? It would surely make for a more enriching experience for him/her and money well spent for the parent(s).
Now I'm not saying allow your kids to do what they want to do instead of what's best for them. I'm saying that I don't think it's a bad idea to develop their strengths in areas that truly interest them. My daughter likes boys and drawing. So I'm always buying her drawing paper and pencils and encouraging her to draw the 'features' she likes in boys. Or even abstract portrayals of what she calls love. Of course, we deal with the rest of the boy issue in another way (mental note: buy more tylenol), but I'm encouraging the talent and hopefully, she'll have a masterpiece in someone's museum one day...
Gotta go. The artsy eight year old has tap and ballet in about an hour. It's funny, while I was pregnant with him, he danced in my belly any time music was played. See...
Now if anybody can tell me what to do with a very vocal, beyond active toddler, I'm all ears!
Next time: poetry
Stay peace and foster their strengths
Saturday, April 19, 2008
(click the player to listen as you read)
Woman's Freedom Cry
I am a woman
which means sometimes I'll blow shit outta proportion
according to you
try to control all that you do
I am a woman
which means that I'm semi-sensitive
giving in to situations
meant to live in this world
laced with lies and undeveloped cries
only to be told it's not lady-like to have my own opinion
and I'm sitting in a state of paranoia
trying to figure out who I have to take care of
eluded by television and radio
that tells me the ratio of black women to success
is 1 in 1000
and I'm providing housing to the next three generations
I have temptations too
to bleach my skin lily white for a fair fight
to straighten, dye, and fry my hair to blend in
winning stares from all men alike
I fight a black woman's fight
I am a woman
which means that no man could ever understand my struggle
I must hold him and the world
yet deny myself
my wealth placed in what I could do for another
but this other has no obligation to me
He doesn't sweat my sweat
hell, he barely rubs my feet
but he's the first to laugh
under my demise and defeat
He's the first to stare
care enough to say I told you so
and turn his back on what nurtured his soul
This shit is getting real old
I am a woman
which means my anger doesn't come from being black
it comes from my brothas sitting on their black asses
and when the situation arise
refuse to take my side
refuse to understand sacrifice
rather lace up some weed
than help provide for his seed
rather run and drink with his boys
than be annoyed by my whining behind
you still expect me to be a strong woman...
That I am
because I've learned that I've long earned my spot in heaven
and regardless of what you might do
ultimately you live for you
so I gotta live for me
and if that means leaving your ass hungry a couple days out the week
if that means making you wash your own clothes
cause, brothas it's time
it's time for me to shine
to let my nappy fro grow
and not worry about your fingers getting caught in my tangles
to walk around in wood carved bangles
and clothes that are comfortable
to burn my bras
and let nature take its course
to divorce myself from self-sacrifice
and roll the die of life...twice
unlearn what I've been miseducated about
and shout at the top of my lungs
I AM A WOMAN
and let it be known...
By: D.J. Frazier
Thursday, April 3, 2008
She slowly removes her 5T jeans
while he coaches away her innocence
She tells him yes when her eyes open wide
and never breaks her stare
she wonders why he has wrinkles on his hands
There is no capacity for her to understand how she is capturing mental stills that will later invade her sanity
When she finally realizes it’s not right,
it’s too late
And when he places his hands over her flat chest
He feels no wrong
He feels new, special… wanted
He even feels truth
She feels something indescribable
But ‘something’ none-the-less
That something makes her want her mother to put him in time-out
Though she does not know why
With arms above her head, she said yes when she allows him to remove her shirt
When the pastel, pink fabric hit the floor
The deed is done and she can’t back out
Especially since he promised her they’d watch Dora the Explorer after they finish his ‘game’
Saying yes when she steps out of her Wednesday embroidered panties
reeking of youth
and the need for protection,
he holds her baby-fat body close to him
and whispers into her ear
causing her to chuckle at his knock-knock joke
All the while he wonders why ‘this one’ had been a hard catch
He’s sick and he needs company
In his misery
By: D.J. Frazier
Mamas taught their kids to beware of strangers. Mamas need to teach their kids to beware of everyone. Children are usually sexually abused by people they know. Do some research, but with keen eyes and an open mind, you can spot the onset of the cycle an abuser uses. Pay particularly close to people who seem to always surround themselves with children. Pay attention to the manners in which they touch your children. There is a grooming process where the perps will touch children often enough (on the shoulder, arm, spinal area, etc.) so they will become comfortable with the 'feel'. To an adult and depending on the environment, such gestures are often disregarded.
Remember, these people will be where kids are; parks, baseball games, back yard bbq's, restaurants catered to children, daycare centers (yes), etc. Who doesn't hug kids? Who doesn't rub a child's back when they've fallen and hurt themselves? How many times have we seen images of Little League coaches with their hands planted on a child's shoulder while speaking to them?
Once they are satisfied with the child's reaction, they test the limits and will graduate to things like placing their hands on the child's knees, or other areas, that are not frequently touched by people other than themselves. The child may feel some sense of wrong, but they trust this person...most times, so do the parents. The grooming period lasts until the child, the parents, and the community, are comfortable enough with seeing Mr/Mrs/Ms XYZ play with, supervise, teach, etc. children.
This is just a smidgen of the cycle. The description above is typical of a certain type of perp. These individuals are usually sexually abusing kids for years.
I didn't plan this post like this. I just wanted to share a lil poetry, but something made me continue to write. I feel that we are a 'fast' world. A world where we see child sexual abuse as an act and not a process. While I'm not denying it's an act, I'm more aware of it being a process as well. Hopefully some ONE will see it this way, too.
Do some research, share links, comments, and this message:
Confronting child sexual abuse with courage
Stop the Silence: Stop Child Sexual Abuse
The American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry on child sexual abuse
Those are good starts and have helpful resources.