U.B.

Fist held high,
Afro perfectly round,
Skin the color of a bar of chocolate-
I’m not sorry.

I hear the thunder in Malcolm’s voice
And I feel the lightning in the ideas of Martin.
Huey speaks my mind.
Stokely sings my soul-
And I’m not sorry.

Angela is my spirit animal.
I growl with the vigor of Nina.
But I dance with the grace of Maya-
And I am not sorry.

I’m strong like Assata.
I’m powerful like Betty.
I’m virtuous like Coretta.
I am ingenious like Sonia-
And I am not sorry.

I live in Erykah’s soulful moans.
I revel in the rim shots of Questlove.
A hot 16 from Talib gives me wings.
K Dot lights a fire in me-
And I am not sorry.

I speak my mind the way 3 Stacks does.
I sing my roots just like India.
I put my story on the big screen like Ava, Ryan and Spike -
And I am not sorry.

I’m mad about Ferguson.
The Jena 6 and The Edmund Pettus Bridge
Still furl my brow.
I will never forget the blood of Rumain Brisbon
Of Akai Gurley
Of Tyree Woodson
Of Victor White III
Of Yvette Smith
Of Jordan Davis
Of Jonathan Ferrell
Of Kimani Gray
Of Chavis Carter
Of Rekia Boyd
Of Trayvon Martin
Of Oscar Grant
Of Tamir Rice
Of Eric Garner
And I am not sorry.

I am Unapologetically Black.

TK

The Cure

Is there a pill for loneliness and heartache?
Is there some wondrous drug
That can make the almost constant
Sting go away?
Is there some magic cure that can
Show up on your doorstep and save
You the shame of a
Trip to the pharmacy?
Can it make you deaf to the sounds
Of those who don't love you?
Their half-hearted "It's gonna be okay"
Or the empty "I wish I knew what to say".
Can it make you not care when
People who say they love you think
You're crazy and decide you are
Just too much. 
Can it give you the side effect of
Sweet numbness that gives
You the peace to not cry?
Will it work on them too?
Will it open their eyes to see that
You're not so bad?
Will they see that you are loving
Them to the best of your ability
Or that all you have, you give?
And give?
And give?
Will they see that you are empty
Because they carry the best of you
In their back pockets?
Can this miracle drug make them
Stop calling you a bitch and
Wrap their arms around you so that
You can just cry?
Will it shut their mouths and open
Their hearts so you can talk without
Being judged?
If somebody found me that pill
Right now, I'd give my life
This very instant.
If someone would slip me that
Capsule to take the pain away,
I'd swallow it down and savor
Every second.
But since I am without remedy,
I will do as I always do
And hope it all stays a secret.

TK

Seven Days

           You will die in a week. In seven days, you will be gone and your life won't mean a thing. Of course those who love you will miss you. There will be a few rallies and posts on social media. Hashtags and memes will spring up in your honor. But the American justice system will ultimately decide you're worthless. It's cute that they call it the "justice" system, isn't it? It may be systematic, but there really is no justice involved.
          Anyway, you can't think on that right now. We need to talk about these seven days you've got left. You need to give your loved ones all the hugs and kisses they will need to last them a lifetine, Send all those greeting cards for the many occasions you'll miss. Give your kids all the love you have left too. Tell them you won't be around to see them graduate or get married. While you're at it, tell them you're sorry for being born Black and for passing it on to them because with your dark skin, they don't stand a chance. Oh and the kids you don't have, you can simply kiss them goodbye. Throw a few apologies out there for not being around to see the births. Then let's get back to business. You have to concentrate on the fact that you have only seven days left to dream. If you haven't been to college, there is no point in wanting to. You'll be gone before you can set foot on any campus. If you're engaged, call it off. You'll never make the wedding. Seven days. You've got seven days to see the world. If you don't have the money, you'll have to forget it. You won't live long enough to earn it. So you'll never have the money and we both know you don't have the time. If you've ever done anything wrong in your life, you have seven days to make it all right. Ever cheated on a test, been accused of stealing, posted anything you shouldn't have on social media? If so, you had better fix it now. Because when you're gone, they will forget how you've loved and how intelligent you are. They won't care that you have no criminal record and that you are a human being and should be allowed to live. The bad things are all they will see. Yup. Pretty soon, someone will come along with a gun, a billy club and a badge (or without) and decide it's time for you to go. The fact that you were on your way to college, haven't graduated high school or had dreams of owning your own business won't matter. It's already been decided that seven days is all you get. And that justice system we spoke about will decide it's okay for your life to be over. It will suddenly become justified that someone else plays God, judge, jury and executioner and denies you what would have been the rest of your life.
         The good news is, you get to be a part of something big. Your name gets to be added to a list of those who departed prematurely. Trayvon Martin. Jordan Davis. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Tamir Rice. Rumain Brisbon. VonDerrit Myers Jr. Dillon McGee.Roshad McIntosh. Kimani Gray. Kendrec McDade. Timothy Russell. Amadou Diallo. Sean Bell. Orlando Barlow. Aaron Campbell. Ronald Madison. James Brissette. Travares McGill. Oscar Grant. Emmett Till. Denzil Dowell. You'll be in the news for years, even if you are a statistic. But in order for you nor your family to be demonized, you've got a lot of work to do. You've only got seven days. Don't make the same mistakes as those before you. You've got a whole week to become perfect. Now go on. Clock's ticking.

TK

Off and On

Recently, someone who is fastly becoming dear to me told me they were in an "off and on" relationship with someone. I had mixed feelings. First of all, I will admit that a part of me hates it because rather than an "off and on" relationship with someone else, I would rather they were just "on" with me. But aside from that, I sympathized. I was in an "off and on" situation for years. When we were "on", things were REALLY good. But when we were "off", I felt like a wrecking ball made its way through my life and every time I thought I would get it all together, it made a loop around just for fun. I know that when I looked into the future, all I could see was what I wanted to be. I couldn't see that my dreams were just Spackle used to cover up the ugly holes in what could never be. But even deeper than that, I thought about my analogy of relationships. When I finally decided to get out of my situation, it came to me that relationships are like art galleries. You display the awe-inspiring and invite people from miles around to admire. You put the pretty gold name plates under the moments you feel will make them drift away to a place that might be better than their world and have hopes of someday having beautiful moments for themselves. They stand, staring with fingers on temples searching for the meaning and truth behind your exhibits. They will tell all of their friends so that they too can come gawk at your gaiety.

But as with an art gallery, people forget there exists storage in relationships. Therein lies the works deemed currently unmoving or perhaps simply less awe-inspiring. These pieces are forgotten because we have found something much more beautiful to show. As much as we would like to say that we keep these pieces because they magnify the beauty of the ones we hang, the truth is we know that when we look at the beauty, we cannot help exploring the questions spawned by their contrasts. We have to ask ourselves the hard questions. How is it that something so beautiful and something so ugly can be created by the same means? Is it right to hide what's ugly? What happens when what we show no longer works? When we shove that it storage? What do we have left?

For me, I realized that in my relationship, when I found a few pretty things to hang on the wall, I stopped working of the stuff I knew was a little rough. Instead, I shoved it in a closet and invited people to focus on the pretty things while these things, once just "a little rough" became dank, dusty and ugly. Because I just let them sit, they lost the little hope and luster they had left. I let people feast their eyes on "He Is With Me Four Nights Out Of The Week" while I ignored the picture that showed me the fact that when he wasn't with me the rest of the time, he was seeing fit to save face and maintain something for someone other than me. When I invited him to look at "He Always Tells Me How Sexy I Am", I didn't see "He Hasn't Said He Loves Me In A Week". "He Wants Me" hid "He GETS Me". "He Feels So Good To Me" completely overshadowed "He Is So Good For Me". "I Feel Really Good About Him" paled in comparison to "He Makes Me Feel Good About Me". I pushed "Our Hearts Belong Together" aside for "All Of Our Friends Say We Belong Together". Instead of "It's Easy To Be With Him", I would rather have looked at "We Look So Good Together". I left all the pictures I was ashamed of in the back room and prayed no one would ever find them. Every time I walked into that storage shed, I averted my gaze from the large picture of my crying eyes that stood against the wall. But I always noticed how they saddened a bit more every time I came in with another piece of pretty I had taken down. It didn't matter to me what those big brown windows to my own soul said to me. All I knew was that I loved him, I had loved him for years and that was what I was supposed to do. Year after year, I returned to the storage shed with pieces of our love that were no longer masterpieces. Pretty soon, my visits became more regular. One night when the adoring crowd had departed and all I had left to look at was "My Love For Him" with its faded name plate and the empty spot next to it where "His Love For Me" used to be, I sat still in that empty gallery and finally allowed myself to feel. I heard a rumble from the back room and felt water beneath my feet. Those eyes, those brazen crystals, those big brown windows to my soul would not be ignored any longer. They broke down the door and let the ugly out. At first it took my breath away. The rush of the waves hit me so hard it felts as though I was being stabbed through the heart. Then I opened my eyes and saw what surrounded me. I was finally forced to see the things I had ignored. I saw the realities. I saw the reasons. I saw the fact that all of what everyone else had seen as art was merely a collection of watercolors that happened to look good under the lights. I saw that everything I had worked so hard to collect was nothing more than a pile of junk to entertain fools who had no clue about art and no real knowledge of love. While I saw all of the reasons we were "on" and heard their echoes of joy, I was finally forced to see that the reasons we were "off" were important too. Once packed tightly in a box in the corner, I saw all the chances at true love I had missed. I finally saw how beautiful they were and regretted pushing them aside. I reached out for them, but they were too far out of reach. The more I saw, the more those eyes of mine cried and raged from the back room. But they were gracious enough not to let me die in the undertow. Instead they seemed to empower me, to make each breath stronger. They worked their magic and created a watery tornado around me that threw a montage of thoughts, memories and feelings against the walls. I saw what I had refused to before and learned the lessons I had run away from. When the storm finally stopped, I was left with the rubble of the life and love I thought was right for me. But still strong, against the wall, stood the picture of my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I could see myself.

I don't know that he will ever come to the same realization I did. I don't know that he will ever see that love is not meant to be "off and on". I don't know that those beautiful windows to his soul will ever show him the beautiful storm or if he will reach out to me as I float by. I don't know that he will realize my beauty and wish he had never let me go. But I can only hope he will see how I could have been that love that stayed on for him, the gentle burn of an eternal flame.

TK

Dear White Best Friend

Dear White Best Friend,  

    I'm a second class citizen. I don't see myself that way and I know that's not how you see me. But that is the way America sees me and my unborn children. You see, they will be born with a cross to bear. And until they get here, the splinters of said cross will be content to draw their blood from me instead. The only crime that ever had to be committed was to show up with black skin. Our heartbreak is not what matters in any court of law. Our tears are only meant to water seeds of hatred. We all live not with thoughts of what we will be when we grow up, but what we want to TRY to be IF we grow up. Long gone are the days of drinking from separate fountains but we cannot pretend our thirsts are quenched when the streets run red with our blood. They might as well show me my sonogram and send me on my way with a set of baby booties with shackles attached because we are all expected to be in them from birth.
    I love you every day and every minute you are my sister. But there are times we have been on the run from reality. Hand in hand we flee through the woods and wade through muddy rivers. But the dogs aren't trained to smell you. We stand in forests facing our fates, but the nooses are not made for your neck. We move in the night with only a lantern to see, but you don't need to run to find your freedom.
    When I shut down, know that you are not the source of my avoidance. Also know that when we discuss headlines, not only do I have to rationalize, but I have to fear for my brothers and my offspring. My babies are robbed of breath before knowing the joy. Know that I am trying to process the conversation I had with one of my beautiful dark skinned sisters who told me she would only date and marry a white man so that her children can be lighter and have an easier life than she did. Know that I am trying to process the fact that when someone who isn't Black can garner a million laughs from pretending to be us, but when the curtain closes, they get to walk down the street and go home safely. Know that I am mad as hell, but I am doing my best to be civil and not display that Angry Black People Syndrome they say we are all born with. Know that I know your eyes are not the only ones on me and that not all lips are speaking of me favorably. Know that I am trying to hold it all together. Know that I am doing the best that I can.

Sincerely,
      TK

4am

It’s 4am, Dear Lover.

Now is not the time for you.

This is the time you should be snuggled in the

Arms of the one who makes you giggle and post

All those cheesy pictures online.

You should be lying in bed planning

Your future complete with six kids

Two dogs and a house.

You should be coming up with all the mean

Things you’ll say tomorrow to single, fucked up girls

Like me.

Better yet, you should be having the sex you

Allude to only when you bring up the fact that

The rest of us are lonely.

You should be just getting in from the parties

You love that the rest of us weren’t invited to.

You should be watching those wedding videos and

Zeroing in on how your friends look so jealous beside

You at the altar.

You should be still expressing your disgust at them

Trying to drink their problems away at the reception.

You should be being as happy as you say you are.

So, why is it that you’re calling me?

Did you suddenly have a bad day with the one

Who will wake up and still love you tomorrow?

Or did you actually remember that you have a friend

Who didn’t die right after you said “I do”?

What happened?

Did you find the phone number of an ex in his cell phone?

Did she reply to a text from an old boyfriend?

Did he tell you you’ve gained weight?

Did she laugh hysterically at a joke her ex-fiance told?

Or did you remember that you had a friend who stood by

You during all of your breakups?

Did you remember who introduced you?

Or are you calling because I am the only one

You know who’s awake?

Or am I supposed to tell you an anecdote from my life

That will make yours seem so much better?

Can’t you just go away and let me be pathetic?

Can’t you allow me not to be jealous of you for a minute?

Can’t you, for a second, not make me feel like everyone has someone

But me?

Can’t you spare me the details of how annoyed you will pretend to be

Only to end up putty in each others' hands?

Can’t you for ONCE not give me the “Be glad you’re single” speech

Right before the gushes and coos about how much you love each other?

Don’t even act like you remember me.

Don’t try the “Remember when” and “I’m so glad we’re friends” game with me.

Please just go away.

It’s 4am.

For me, it’s the crying hour.

And I really don’t want you here.

TK

Dancing With Ghosts

   I assure you there is nothing funny about the subject matter of this post. However, in completing it, all I can do is laugh and shake my head because of the funny circumstances surrounding it. First of all, there is coincidence of the title. I actually started this post about eight hours ago. Its intent was to describe the well of emotions I have fallen into this weekend. These past two days have been all about reflection and thoughts of the past. For weeks, I have had the March issue of Essence sitting on my table and have been making plans to read it. I finally sat down with it tonight and when I go to the cover story, wouldn't you know that Chiwetel Ejiofor, one of Black Hollywood's best kept secrets for years, described his experience with making 12 Years A Slave as "dancing with ghosts". The fact that that was already the title of this post and the fact that I watched 12 Years A Slave for the third time this weekend, gave me an immediate shudder.
   My first moment came in a conversation with my mother. She and I were talking about the bad luck I have been having lately. When I got to a point where I had run out of words for the things I've dealt with and all I could say was "Mommy, I just don't know what to do", she said "Well, sometimes you just have to know that sometimes your bad luck comes from being good to people. But you have to know that better luck will come when you start being better to yourself." When she said that, it was like something thumped me on the forehead. It wasn't so much the first part because I know that, despite the fact that some people may believe me to be a bitch, the fact that I am too good to people and give far too many chances at times cause my downfall at times. But when she told me better luck comes when I start being better to myself, I realized more errors of my ways. I do believe it to be an asset to me that I am extremely hard on myself. However, I have beat myself up so much for the way things have been going that I just may have missed out on lots of opportunities to improve them. I have told myself so often that there must be something I have done to cause everything and that there is no way that any of it is by no fault of my own. What I should have been doing instead is asking myself just what I am going to do about it.
    When I wasn't with my mother, I was alone watching movies. Chiwetel Ejiofor and the beautiful Lupita Nyong'o's performances in 12 Years A Slave are no less awe-inspiring, no matter how many times I see them. Even though it is not a past that I am old enough to remember, I can't help letting pride be one of the million feelings I have when I watch this film. I read the book years ago and found the story moving. But there is something about seeing it played out on screen that takes my breath away. Here you have a man who lived free, educated and talented but was tricked and kidnapped to endure twelve grueling years as a slave and being treated as less than a man. But he still somehow maintains enough hope and sensibility to be returned to his family and his freedom. For me, there is one scene in the film that pulled everything together and allowed all of the experiences to set in. There is a scene right after Bass (played by executive producer Brad Pitt) has agreed to write Solomon's letters. No words are spoken in the scene. It is just Solomon sitting in a field by himself looking off into the distance. The look on his face is one of fatigue, anguish, confusion, hopelessness, reflection, fear, relief and at least 150 emotions. In that very moment, he has to think of his past and his desire to go back there. He fears what may happen if he should be betrayed again. He is tired. He is a ball of nerves given the fact that he is unsure whether or not he has made a mistake that will end his life or made a old move that will get him his life back. Solomon finally gets the chance to be alone with himself and assess his entire life. He takes stock of so much in those few minutes. There were other moments in the film where Solomon was alone, but not for as long and not nearly as much had happened to him. Steve McQueen was brilliant to give us this scene in this manner and at the point in the film that he did. Even without dialog, it is the heaviest and to me, the fullest scene in the film. Personally, at that moment, I gave some thought to my own strength. I am not certain that I could have lived through what Solomon and Patsey did. The fact that I complain about trivial things shows me what a watered down version I am of the stock I come from. Though I cannot be sure whether any of Solomon's blood runs through my veins, I know that I share the blood of those just as strong. And the fact that I grow weak at things that would have been considered fortune to them, lets me know that I need to stick out my chest and be strong.
   Another AWESOME film I watched, also for the third time was Fruitvale Station. Coincidentally, the dapper and handsome Michael B. Jordan is featured in the same article I read Chiwetel's quote in. His portrayal of Oscar Grant was spell-binding. In addition to the renewed feeling of anger I felt when the story broke in 2009, I felt a sense of deep reflection when watching this weekend. Oscar was a man who was vilified for the mistakes of his past. Those who wanted to assassinate his character paid no mind to the good deeds he did from day to day and the fact that he sincerely wanted to change his life for the better. This film is a jewel because writer and director Ryan Coogler is from the same area and had connections to Oscar's life that made it all so real. I love the fact that he showed Oscar's kindness to strangers and even his love for animals and took off the mask of the monster that the media had created. In reality, Oscar Julius Grant III never should have been made to wear that mask in the first place. The irony of his life was that it ended after he was innocently recognized by a stranger he had paid a kindness to who only wanted to wish him a happy new year, but unknowingly exposed him to one of the demons of his past. The fact that as he lay dying, he repeated to his shooter, "I got a daughter", proves that he was not the stereotypical young, Black deadbeat father. He was a 22-year-old man who wanted a bright future, loved his mother, loved his daughter, loved the mother of his child and had a big heart that was open to all that he met. Oscar's openness made me question my own. I know that I try and do a kind deed when I see the need. But are my eyes open enough? Am I as aware as I should be when others are in need? And just how far would I go to help? Maybe the reason I have not gotten the things I want from my life is that there is more that I should be putting in. Maybe I need to tap into the Oscar Grant inside of me a little more often.
    The happenings in both these films, Solomon's love for his wife (though only shown briefly) and Oscar's love for Sophina brought to mind my own relationships. I know for a fact that I do dance with the ghosts of past loves quite often and perhaps that scares me away from loving again. Sure, everyone close to me knows that for years I have been in love with Larry Fitzgerald (wide receiver for the Arizona Cardinals for those who don't know). But that is a different kind of love from another in the respect that I can express it with no fear because in my heart I am sure that it is one that will never be real to me. But the grand mistake of loving another comes to mind when I think of relationships. Years ago, I wrote a song called "Ghost of Me" in which I mockingly tell my ex-lover to "have a tango around the floor with the ghost of me". But in reality, I have probably been the only one dancing. In order for me to have peace in that or any other area of my life, I have to decide whether I will allow all of my ghosts to lead the dance or leave them standing along the walls just praying I will ask for their hands.

TK