Grudges

So....

After the last post I got a few interesting comments.My thighs got hot, now only a select few know what that means but lets just say I felt the need to defend my position. Maybe what I said doesn't apply to all BM & WW relationships but you gotta admit it does apply to some. I'm not apologetic for what i said. Though sometimes I can walk down the street and not give two good damns about who's with who, but sometimes I do feel a twinge or find myself wondering why. One comment that I read said that I was holding on to grudges, that I should take a note from MLK and think about Unity. My first mind was to say that I am a Malcolm head so.., but then I stood back and thought, Maybe I am holding on to a grudge.

For those who are free of it and who don't carry the sins of their fathers I applaud you.You are lucky that you don't have to face insecurities and hate embedded so deep within you that you don't know they are there until you read about it or come across certain situations. In 11th grade I took African American History. My mind opened up my relaxer grew out ( at lest the first attempt), and I became very aware of things that I never noticed before.

I never thought I had color issues until I saw a man one day at my Target job the summer after my class, and thought "he is too dark."He looked at me knowing that I was staring and called me sister. I hated myself in that moment. I hated that in me there were thoughts that I hadn't placed there. That somewhere down the line someone said that dark skin, thick coarse curly hair, big lips, big eyes, big noses big butts, big breast were some how not beautiful. Not even human. That in this country we were 3/5 a person that we didn't have souls. that our body was not the American standard of beauty. Even though we have been here since 1619. Black women have to tip toe around our sexuality, Cant go but so far because we don't want to seem promiscuous.You Damn right I got a grudge.

And honestly i am afraid to let go of it. because I fear somehow I would forget my past. My struggle, My people, Myself. It's like this:

Thou art not holy to belie me so; 48
I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;
My name is Constance; I was Geffrey’s wife;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost!
I am not mad: I would to heaven I were! 52
For then ’tis like I should forget myself:
O! if I could, what grief should I forget.
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz’d, cardinal; 56
For being not mad but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver’d of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 60
If I were mad, I should forget my son,
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.
I am not mad: too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.


I quoted this monelouge from Shakespeare because it relates to how I'm feeling. I wish i could forgive and forget, but I can't. I can't let go of shit that still affects me. I feel it, see it, think it everyday. So I'm sorry if I have grudges. I'm sorry that the N word doesn't flow as easily out of my mouth as others because some how in some peoples minds it has changed into a non offensive word (side bar I do slip fro time to time). I'm sorry that I may have the occasional internally racist thought. And Im sorry that I may have a problem with a Black Man and a White woman. I don't want to go back to not knowing or not caring or being unaware of my people, not just our beauty, but our true selves. Our sence of community. Our movements. Our beliefs. Our heritage. i know the struggle doesn't make you who you are but it does show you what you are made of. I don't want to lose that.

That's life, and I'm still workin on it
PLBG