I follow them & I think you should too

this is me...then
urban enigma
money hoes and clothes
los tha scholar
joshua arts
oddisee music
sneak peek
the real kesh
john forte
black snob
juju mama
blak hand side
bourgie adventures
divine rae
the boobs
the cynicalones
new money machinko
leet money
2 dope boyz
flipelican
sister toldja
neglected sound
dope lyrics
awesome 4 sale
afro fantasy
fracturedminds
until i get married
closing in
the lauren show
(not)happy about this



Powered by Blogger

Subscribe to
Posts [Atom]

Blogs By Black Women
Powered By Ringsurf


Black & Single in The City

I pimp the truth, that's the only method

Sunday, September 13

bloomin like a flower with the power of the evident

The other day I found myself crying. In the middle of day, at work, in my office, setting at my desk, CRYING. I was so overcome with emotion that my body could no longer hold it in, could no longer contain the feelings that were being manifested from my soul. I was so overcome with depth. And it was urgent like a muthafucka. And yes i said depth. Depth in the desire and love for you, for us, for them, for our children, for our future. And all of this was brought about by a song. One song, that spoke out all that is within my heart.

I love my people so intensely. At times I am so overcome with passion that I have to let it out, in whatever form, shape or fashion The Almighty see's fit. And no one can change this. In undergrad, when i was just actualizing the growing agape within me, I was attacked with the label racist. And at the time it pained and infuriated me. But as I got older, and hopefully a little more wiser, I came to realize that those who see strength of character and knowledge of self, fear it. Those who truly are aware of who they are and possess kujichagulia cannot be molded into sheep and happily accept an attachment of the "token nigga" label.

So, as I sat my desk, allowing my ipod to play DJ, like i do on most days, the song K.O.S (Determination) by Black Star came on. And its a song that I have heard hundreds and hundreds of times. But something was different this time. I became one with the lyrics. I allowed a connection to develop and by the time the following lines were playing, my desires erupted:

At exactly which point do you start to realize
That life without knowledge is, death in disguise?
That's why, Knowledge Of Self is like life after death
Apply it, to your life, let destiny manifest


Many do not understand what I stand for at all. They try to fit me into a box, and when certain aspects of my character shine through that are dumbfounded. Well it was dumb trying to fit me in that box in the first place. However, I see and hear soo much anti-us from us. Hatered towards our naturally nappy crowns, hatered towards wanting to be anything other than being called niggas and bitches, hatered towards fully understanding what manhood and womanhood are. I get side-eyes and puzzling questions in regards to being a woman with locs, with mother Africa on my back, and an adrinkra symbol on my foot.

Our children are loosing who they are. They are being spoon feed their antithesis in what is now looked upon as good music and entertainment and are savoring every dumb downed morsel. Somewhere along the way, the identity that was at the heart of black people was lost. Somewhere between the ending of the 70s and the pursuit of our destinies in the 80s and 90s, the masses lost interest in themselves. We are allowing others to define ourselves. We are dying. We are being bamboozled. We are plugged into our idiot boxes and living in their matrix.

But there is salvation from ourselves. When those lyrics came on, they told me that we can still reclaim ourselves. Remove the "tokens", the "good niggas", and the "sambos", from our identity. Our entertainers, movie producers, writers, and athletes can stop shucking and jiving. As long as their are those whose know who they are, and have it in their hearts to not let us sacrifice ourselves there is life after death. It is up to those individuals to ensure that black america remembers who she is. We cant rest, we cant take breaks, we cant take naps, we cannot sleep until we have begun redefining our own definition. And because of this, I stay woke.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Loving this!

10:17 PM  

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home