~*2Deep*~

Posts Tagged ‘American’

You Killed Chivalry, You Bastard! Pt1

In XX Edition: About the Girls on 14 September 2011 at 12:22 am

I don’t think that men actually get it. I mean, the fastest ways to piss me off is to not act your age and to stab Chivarly in the back in my presence. Yes, a tad bit dramatic… I get it, but I am fed up with it. Why couldn’t I have been born 50 years before my time. I would rather have fought Jim Crow than to squabble with Dumbasses. Trust me, this is not an exaggeration… white man…. call me nigger.  I honestly could take that over my own black supposed king calling me bitch.

Where is this stemming from, you ask? So there is this “guy”. I could say sooooooooooo much right now but I am choosing not to as not to set his whole entire village on fire. Fuck burning the bridge, I want to set his future grandkids on fire! He irks the shit out of me in ways that I didnt even know that I could be disturbed. I mean… I have had thoughts of fucking him up. I keep trying to give him a chance because I already know that I am crazy, but there is no helping this fucker in my presence.

So today, I woke up feeling horrible. I was supposed to spend the night at his house (TRUST ME THERE WAS NO SEX GOING ON UNLESS HE RAPED ME!). But, I knew that I would want to come home and get some rest after blogging about The Braxtons  and Sinbad so I called and asked if we could reschedule. I was respectable. But as the day went by I started to feel a little bit better…. took meds….and then said I could come over for a little bit but not stay the night. So we are kicking it….. Read the rest of this entry »

Muslim Angel: A Poem

In So-Shall Experience, Writer's Block on 5 May 2011 at 12:03 pm

       

        So, today is May 5th. When I woke up this morning I had nothing more than thoughts of foolish acts and enough liqour to make me forget about what I did.  But as my luck would have it…. it didnt turn out that way.

        I was minding my own business on the Washington, D.C. subway/metro system when something outrageous occurred. I witness Americans discriminating against a Muslim woman who was merely seeking help to get to another metro station.  She was no taller than about 5’5, 5’6 at the most, and between the ages of 48 to 54. She posted no threats whatsoever. When I tell you that I was soooo disgusted that I had to step in and do my part….. you cant even imagine what was going on in my soul.  As a black woman it clicked, as an American I was ashamed, and as a human I felt compelled to do whatever I could. All of this just 2 days after the news broke that Osama bin Laden was killed.

        I went to twitter and I posted the following status: “Dear Muslim woman dressed in full attire, I saw the looks we got on the metro as I helped you find Van Doren. I now understand.” Immediately upon writing that I wrote, “Pardon me….. I am inspired to write a poem.” And I did.

        Work was not a concern of me at the moment. I took to my computer and wrote the following poem:

Muslim Angel

By: 2Deep the Poetess (www.2deepuncensored.wordpress.com)

May 5, 2011

 

Rush Hour

Dim light

The sound of the hustle and bustle of destined feet rush by

Head bobbing to the rhythm of modern complacency

Conformed to public transportation etiquette

Confined

Blending

Silenced

Until

Muslim angel,

Because such a thing exists,

Dressed in full, all white garb

Hijab edges outlined in sea-foam blue,

Magnifying her faith 10 times over,

Wonders towards me in a 5th attempt to gain assistance

Previous attempts brushed off by head turns

Flaps of Express newspapers in response to her

Popping like bullets of insults

As headlines of Osama’s demise dangle in her face

As if to say, “Look at what we can do to your kind, here inAmerica”

I saw this

In that moment, I was not proud to be an American

If this was, in fact, the way an American should act

I knew it was not her Farsi trained tongue exercising broken English

That made them ignore her requests

I understood her just fine

Help me”, sprang from her lips

And translated to comprehension via my eyes

Before I even removed my headphones

I asked if she could repeat herself

Good Morning”, she said

Help me, please.

Van Doren.”

Without second thought I took the metro map out of her hand

Took her hand in my other and said, “Follow me.

I will take you.”

A gasp schoolyard bullied its way out of the throat of the Caucasian woman standing next to me

Eavesdropping getting the best of her

My original mission of getting to work on time escaping me

This was bigger than me

Something greater inside of me whispered

Do not let go of her hand.”

And I obeyed

Seemingly safe within the metal cage

Transporting civilians into the breast of the Confederacy

Older Black woman sang disgust

Like a house nigger gawking

As if I was a field nigger threatening to bring mud into the big house

Exercising her Jim Crow

Removing herself from the front of the car, next to us, to sit elsewhere

Muslim Angel and I stuck out like sore thumbs

Comparison to Freedom Bus rides

We sat front seat at society’s counter

Demanding we be served respect

Express newspaper under my thigh

Feeling guilty for seeking out current events

For today I now knew

I was not proud to be an American

She was I and I was she

And here we sat

Traveling to a place where only one of us knew how to get to

Me to Van Doren

She to a place where she could brave the prejudice and still keep her chin high while seeking help

She needing to know what I knew and vice versa

Yet we sat in silence

Communicating through squeezed palms

Praying to one another for remaining true to who they were

And though she spoke Farsi and I English

We both managed, somehow, to speak human

And we continued to hold on to one another

Next stop Van Doren”, rang over the intercom

Promised land for her and I

As I walked her out to the platform of her destination

Allah shook God’s hand

Hugged

And said many thanks

All the while I noticed we never said bye

Never shared names

Yet knowing we were sisters just the same

Understanding our coexistence in the midst of those who merely exist

I hope that you enjoyed the poem. I want to hear your thoughts on it. Your thoughts on the situation and anything else that you have to say. I pray that there are other people out there who think like I do and would have done the same thing.

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

A “Loc” on Intimacy

In Cupid & Other Myths on 4 January 2011 at 10:51 am

        

         “I WISH A NEGRO WOULD TOUCH MY HAIR AFTER I GOT IT DONE! “ is heard being yelled from a gaggle of African-American females at a brunch. “He better go get a white girl for that” is the follow-up by the freshly done, mohawked co-signer giving cliché snaps and hi-fives in my imaginary scenario. Yet, imaginary or not….at least ONE African-American sister reading this nodded her head in agreement at the reality of such statements before reaching the sentence about it being a made up scenario. We live here. Somewhere between I Wish A Nigga Would Blvd and Madame CJ Walker Ave where it has become okay for our crown and glory to remain nothing more than a show piece head-dress to be paraded in front of our kings like an artifact in a museum; on display but not to be touched. How’d we get here?

        Did we get to this point from the hours upon hours of sitting next to the stove in the kitchen smelling dinner cook as your mom threatened to burn your neck if you didn’t lean your head all the way to the side as Blue Magic sizzled in your ear? Or was it the reoccurring echo of your mother yelling, “Dont let anyone play in your hair while you are at school” that has somehow follow you into adulthood, long after the threat of lice were gone?  Or was it the old wives tales that your hair carries energy and not just anyone should be playing in your hair like it is recess? Whatever the case may be, if your man is good enough to play all up and through your candy land….why can’t he play in your naps? It sounds so silly once I put it that way doesn’t it? You can sleep with me, but don’t touch my hair. I mean, if we told inner city girls that they needed to care for their bush as much as they do their…well..bush, we may have more virgins in the world and cut down on the world population. Why can a man have sex with us… but can’t touch our hair? Strange…..very , very , strange.

        Knowing the Black woman better than she knows herself ( yes, I’m black), I know for a fact that no matter how liberal she may think that she is… she would rather vote Palin in office with Bush as her VP and McCain as Secretary of Defense before she would ever want to see a Black man with a White woman. It is fact. Even the liberal ones cringe at first sight, evaluate a flaw in her, compare it to the flaw in him and then become okay with it. It’s because we wonder…..what in the hell does she have to make him cross melanin lines and date outside of the cotton field. It is not racial. It is a direct example of confusion between Black males and females personified and in the flesh and we are left to face it.  When not in “mixed company” we share derogatory statements like nigger jokes at a country club amongst ourselves about how the White woman will do the stuff that we wont do , never seeing it as a negative for us but rather a negative for her. This isn’t intended to be racial as it is informative. Its Lisa Lamponelli , Carlos Mencia, Paul Mooney and Richard Prior on stage being copy/pasted into the privacy of our own homes. They say what we think…and even reveal what we have yet to understand.

        I’m not a freak by any stretch of the imagination, but I often wonder what do people get out of the whole “pull my hair” segment of sex, I mean who does that? If this were a question on Jeopardy the answer would be “What is Shit that White people do?”. I’m tender headed. I don’t like to comb my hair when I HAVE to yet alone allow a guy to grip and cause alopecia traction baldness in a heat of passion. So what do people get out of that? I am soooooo serious when I ask this question. Outside of kinky violence, I can’t see much else being received from it. Or can I?… Nope, I can’t. But I do have a serious question to ask, a few actually.

        Black ladies…..do you think that we lose a huge portion of our intimacy with our Black men because we often refuse to let them touch our hair? I mean… think about it. To a guy, touching your hair is a subtle way of him sending you a signal that he is feeling you. Swimming or sexual encounters in bodies of water or the shower is on the top of many men’s fantasy lists; seen Baywatch Lately? Men go crazy as a woman does a slow walk out of the water and pushes her hair out of her face. The slow hair blow as a woman gets out of the car was designed by a man, for a man as a way to seduce him via Yaky 1b natural. Yet, ladies…. most of us do not partake in any of these activities. I don’t care if a woman is natural or creamy cracked out…. several will not let her man touch her hair. WE have built up this impermeable wall of Pink Oil Moisturizer and Jam that most black men have learned before they were able to pee directly into the bowl that they do not touch a black woman’s hair. We have unconsciously trained our future kings that they can touch everything on his future queen’s body but her crown. Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this?

       I mentioned this to my big brother on Sunday, and I promise you that if he had wings he would have jumped off the sofa in agreement and flown away. For a moment it looked as if he had caught the Holy Ghost, but it was just frustration releasing. He wasnt even paying attention to my side conversation with his wife…. but I ‘ll be damned if he wasnt fully listening now! lol. I wish I had recorded it just so that women could see the amount of energy and excitement he expressed to finally have a black women expressing his same sentiments. He said, “I would even go as far as to say that THIS (not touching a black woman’s hair) is why SOME black men date outside of the race.” There you have it… straight from the horse’s mouth! Ladies, here you have a black man telling you that he could understand why a black man would date outside of his race….just to feel someone’s hair/scalp… than to stick around and not be able to express his silent form of affection to you. I’ve even posted this question on Twitter and got blocked from tweeting because I ran out of my daily allotted tweets by responding to the sea of guys who said that they wished they could touch their girl’s hair/head. I posted it again today and will see what happens.

        So in closing, Black women… we’ve got to do better when it comes to allowing our kings to touch our hair. Maybe let him touch it for the few days leading up to a retouch, or right after you get it washed. Maybe this is the connection that we need to re-establish in order to allow intimacy to flow from a natural place, unrestricted by social taboos and norms. Maybe, and just maybe this will cause Mr. Lynch to shake in his grave if we can get one woman to allow her man to run his fingers through her hair. Would it hurt us to share this portion of ourselves? Would it kill us to open of a gateway to intimacy that hasn’t been there since the invention of a hot comb? Can we learn that there are things far more important than our hair? I hope so……your relationship is counting on it. And I am not asking you to let everyone touch your hair… just your man. SO yes, if the complete stranger (white woman) standing behind you at the Reagan National Airport decides amongst her friends that you have beautiful hair and decides to reach out and run her fingers through your hair…..(This happened to me)…..just breathe before you commit a felony. Everyone is not as restrictive as we are about our hair….and this is the day that you may need to examine why. It is my suggestion that we ask ourselves if this is the cause of why black love has a “loc” on intimacy.

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

Dear (Majority of) White People……

In So-Shall Experience on 7 October 2010 at 11:14 am

       So-Shall I be the first to point out that  yes, the title may seem just a tad bit racist. Well.. I’m not racist! Some of my closest friends are white! And no, I am not making a generalized statement for ALL white people, but yes, this does apply to MOST white people. Shoot me on being Politically Incorrect later… right now… I’m venting.

        So this blog comes from the fact that for the past two days/years I have been the victim of Caucasian Anti-Conflict measures, aka Passive-Aggressive, aka That Bull SHit! I don’t do well with beating around the bush. I am perfectly happy with just setting the whole damn bush on fire and letting the truth burn or confess what the hell is on its mind. hahaha a Burning Bush sounds so Biblical…but modernized concept. Point blank…. I don’t like it and it drives me up the wall.

        Where does this come from? I could turn completely militant and ask ” are you that afraid of black people, or conflict in general, that you would rather appear to be a strong force while turning female dog behind closed doors”? You do know that I have no source of respect for anyone who participates in this kind of action. It shows weakness, it creates animosity, it creates a divide in whatever form of trust that may have been present before you turned bitch. And I am not saying this as a minority woman, but as a person in general, I like people in authority to be in authority and not to abuse the power.

         When I came to this position at my job I worked under a very powerful, strong-willed, and intelligent African-American woman. Now, my other African-American women know that this in and of itself could pose as a recipe for disaster in the work place. Well try two black women at the head of your division. I just knew I wasnt going to make it through this experience without getting arrested, but I was sadly mistaken. These two black women were some of my best bosses in my whole employment history. They were direct, they were quick in correcting the issue and you never were in the dark about what your tasks were, how they felt about you, and what it was that was coming down the pipeline. I LOVED that. They put out the fire before the gasoline was even ciphered out of the ground, they didn’t wait for the match to be lit after the situation was drenched in octane. I felt very accomplished working under the two of them and I got a ton of work done. This is the type of environment that I thrive in; directness, preciseness, and honesty.

        But this joy was short-lived as one boss got a job in another division and the HWIC retired. We then got this younger Caucasian male to replace her. I was like, okay, new experience but I will embrace it.  But now!…..please bring my two black women back!!!!!!! Between his indecisiveness, his two-faced ways, his cutting you off in the middle of conversations, and his bold face lying…. I just can’t take the Passive-Aggressive measures that he is already taking as the new lead of my division. I can’t do it…. then his elderly mini-me who follows behind him drives me absolutely up the wall….let me explain.

        I am, if nothing else, a very direct & consistent woman…if I say that I will do something then that is exactly what I am going to do unless a force of God takes that power away from me. So, if I am going to be late, sick, or stuck in traffic I text, email, or call my Caucasian supervisor and let him know…he’s the elderly mini-me. I have sent emails and text messages at 4am as I head to the ER or 6am while I am having an asthma attack on my bathroom floor. I’ve even texted him, WHILE DRIVING…which is ILLEGAL…if I am stuck in this horrible DMV traffic just so that they are aware of where I am. All this to say….they know where I am. So dude, if you don’t hear from me saying that I am running late, that means that I am in the office somewhere and all you need to do is leave me the hell alone. But noooooooooooo this fossil decides to walk past my office to the office behind me, which is a dead-end, and then turn back just to say good morning and walks back to his desk. Or if I am on the phone and a meeting has started he walks over and tells me that I need to get off the phone because a meeting is going on ( never mind the fact that this phone call pertains to information that I need to share in the meeting as soon as it is completed).  Or an office email is sent out and he has to walk over and tell me the very same damn thing that the email says… FOOL YOU HIRED ME BECAUSE I CAN READ!!!! This nonsense gets old, annoying, and mentally challenging. 

        When there is a situation that needs to be resolved I feel like I am floating in the middle of Kat Stacks vag. I have walked to my elderly supervisor with concerns and problems asking for his assistance just to have him tell me that I need to suck it up. I have sent emails and documented issues that have stressed me out, made my working conditions unbearable and that have almost made me choose to quit just to have him sit on them and say that we are here to please the company. But when those very problems are brought to him because they have escalated and I am now in trouble… NOW he comes to me and wants to set the record straight. Do you all know that I am on probation at work because this pale fart failed to do his due diligence as my supervisor and ensure that I was covered!!! He walks into meetings like he has never heard my concerns and turns shocked that this is even happening and throws me under the fucking bus!!!! I HATE THIS MESS! This type of behavior will get his 2 days from shaking God’s hand in person ass pushed down an elevator shaft! WHO DOES THAT?!!! My head boss sat in front of us yesterday and asked for another co-worker in front of everyone. That co-worker comes into the office and mentions that she heard she was being looked for and he lied to her face. But then he calls his mini-me into the office and we get a discussion about being on time.

        Dear White People…. don’t do that shit! When I walk into a meeting and you make a generalized statement, it goes right over my head because I know what you once told me and I stick with that. When I ask you if it is me and for specific details, dont generalize me because you will get generally ignored. For example, I was told that my friendship with another employee was a conflict of interest…but when I asked what aspects of that friendship so that I could fix the situation, I was told that it was no big deal. If it is no big deal why the hell are you sitting with me in an office telling me that there is a problem with my damn friendship? Then when I say that I will stop being friends with this person they tell me to stop being dramatic and all of that is no necessary. WELL, DAMN IT THEN TELL ME WHAT PART I NEED TO FIX because my job is not worth me losing over a friendship that I only have when I am in the office, nor is my healthy or parole record worth damaging because you can’t make up your damn mind.

        So, speak to me directly. Conflict is good… that shows me that you are human, that you have opinions and that I cant run all over you. I respect logical conflict….but this Passive-Aggressive nonsense causes me to lose all respect for you, what you stand for and you will get nothing out of me. Change this up. I shouldnt always have to conform to the ways of the world….sometimes the ways of the world need to acknowledge that you are incorrect, flat-out wrong and do something to correct it. That is my thought. And Scene!

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

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