Untitled #Black

 

When I think about life as a black woman and the internal fight that takes place trying to prove my humanness and worth for love, I become saddened.  There is not a day that I wake up that my blackness is not ever before me.  Whether I am invisible in a grocery line to a white person scurrying to be serviced or overlooked by a black man that can’t see pass my dark pigmentation, fluffiness, and kinky hair.  I am fighting to be seen in a world where I am present but don’t really exist.

I feel like a child standing at the door watching the kids play as life goes on without me and no one notices that I don’t really have a horse, thimble, race car, shoe, or hat in the game; yeah it’s a Monopoly.  A monopoly of domination and control as I am controlled by the powers that be while competing with people who look like me for the dominion seat; yeah its domination and control.

You say what is your struggle, what is your fight as you sit at the table of the most influential, have the alphabet soup behind your name, and pull up to your gated community? I say…I am the exception. There is a price to pay for being the exception. As the exception you are celebrated for being the exception as mainstream America uses you as an example that black people don’t have it that hard while your own people disown you as they accuse you of not understanding the struggle. As the exception I gain notoriety but lose my ability to be loved as I become this in touch out of touch being living on a planet of my own fighting, fighting to prove my humanness and worth for love.

dun, dun, dun-dun....I DO but I DOnt or I WOnt.

In a Christian world when homosexuality is always a hot topic I wonder if we can put our money where our mouth is. We scream from the mountaintops that deliverance is available to combat the sin of homosexuality yet when we have men in our midst that are not mens men we accuse them of a gayness that may not even exist but through your words you create an atmosphere for the spirit to rest. Then I ask the question of how many of us with such strong opinions are willing to undergo marrying a ex-homosexual that through this union the act of sanctification can continue to manifest....hmmm. So many times we say we believe but we really do not. Does God heal the homosexual or not? I wonder why we have the power to detect and discern sin through condemnation but little power to drive it out.Then we get into these discussion of as long as they don't act in it they are citizens of heaven. While as a man believeth is his heart so is he? If sin is a sin is a sin why do we marry ex drug addicts, ex drug dealers, ex players, ex pimps but shun a man that struggled with his sexuality? I am in no means pointing the finger as I had to ask myself the question first, not yet being able to answer it as I am challenged with my perspective as a Christian and my perspective as a Social Worker. This is just the beginning of a conversation that I believe is worth having.

Nina Brilliantly Bound Simone

After watching the documentary on Netflix many thoughts, theories

and feelings came to mind. I see myself. I see my mother. I see my

sisters. I look into the eyes of many black women seeking to

establish herself from the outside while being dismantled from the

inside. I am everything to the world yet I feel like nothing. My

struggle from within roars through the worlds applause, roars

through the cries of my children, roars through the voice of the

Spirit. But that roar silences itself when I am flowing in my

gift. The gift given to me from on high. It was intertwined into my

DNA. I cannot deny it. I cannot reject it. I function in it whether I

am at my peak or desolate begging for bread. Yes, the roar

becomes a purr as I can see it backing up and making room for my

gift to take he stage. This gift is called my purpose. My purpose-the

reason I am here-I was created for this yet when mishandled and

not nurtured I find myself singing amongst winos in a ball gown

and pawned jewels. This I know...when I am gifting I hear no

roar while my gifting is limited by the standards of this world I still

find myself bound. So my choice then becomes to gift within a

cage or live in a cage with the roar....either way I am bound and

all I want is to be is free. My choice is no choice at all so I live in

both cages as both war for my soul. Through this war there is yet

life to be lived...I am a mother, I am a wife, I am an adult-child, I

am a community member, I am a professional, I am the church

pew, I am a friend, I am everything yet I feel like nothing. I am

black, My nose is wide, My laugh is loud, My lips are full, My hair

is that of wool, My sass commands attention, My poise demands

respect. Who am I, from which place do I come? I am tolerated,

accepted, and even given special rights along the way to

compensate for global caging yet universally the struggle

continues. I conclude chasing the color purple wondering if

freedom comes from heaven lasting always or if I should bash

Mistas head and think about heaven later. How about I bash his

head on my way?! Freedom.