…Among other things, I have also re-enrolled in school.
I am going for a second master’s degree. This one in humanities. Truth be told, I’ve always loved school and reading romance. If you could pair two of my loves together, you would create my dream job. Thankfully, I was able to pair the two by becoming a romance writer.
I started back in August, and I just finished my first-quarter class. I absolutely loved it! It was everything I love all tied into one rigorous eight-week session. I was able to read novels I’d never would have glanced at normally. The reason I am sharing this with you all is not for praise, but to encourage you. Never stop learning, always do more, fail, A LOT, because that’s the only way you’ll learn. As a twenty-nine-year-old woman, I feel that I have a bit of experience behind my back to confidently say those words to you. That, and read a ton of romantic, sappy, unrealistic fiction.
let me introduce myself.
You see I’ve been kind,
of sound mind,
and always on time;
But no more.
Give me a minute, a moment,
a second for you to understand my plea.
I can’t really call it a plea because I don’t
care if you see.
I don’t care,
If this makes the hair stand up on your neck.
I don’t care
If this gives you chill bumps on your arms.
You see, I am beautiful.
And no I’m not 5’5 125 and blonde.
No I am not,
I’m proud to have hips, thighs, and seductive eyes.
I’m glad to be tall.
I’m glad to have breasts, a swagger, and a sweet behind that ain’t going no where.
I’m glad to have melanin in my skin and don’t need to bend.
I’m glad that I come from a culture a country a history
so rich, so grand that you couldn’t possibly understand.
I’m so glad that my people had to go through trials and tribulations,
separation of families, and dynasties
that only made us,
that made me stronger.
Now understand chattel slavery wasn’t an ideal way to make us stronger,
but you know, I guess it’s my people fault for being an inferior race and all.
But I shouldn’t jest,
my mind seems to digress.
I’m not sorry if I don’t cower in fear.
I’m not sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear.
Save your pity,
your crocodile tears.
I’m through being patient.
You see the world I live in thinks from time to time to stereotype
to call me names so that I know my place.
The world I live in thinks it’s okay to tell other girls, and women
to lighten yourself a bit,
to wear your hair a certain way,
and in some states to call me bae.
In some places it’s okay to STILL call my father,
a grown man with a family boy.
In some states it’s okay to shoot at black boys, and men because you think they may harm you when in all honestly they die following orders, and rules THEY demand of you.
In some states it’s okay to shoot and beat a black woman on the street just for asking why you want to arrest her.
In some states it’s okay to pull over two black young girls leaving the beach, and put your hands in their privates for the world to see just because they were speeding.
In some states it’s okay to call me a nigger, darkie, sexual fiend, that needs a iron fist and a ruling hand.
Oh, I’m sorry it was in the past so it means that I shouldn’t offend your delicate sensibilities.
Again my sincerest apologies.
Someone please come and clean up this sorry lot.
these words I jot,
on the spot,
should hopefully educate a tot.