With Every Goodbye, A Hello Follows

Is there any way to truly say goodbye?
Could the salty fluid seeping through my eyelids possibly speak louder than the deafening screams I cry?
Penetrating the ears of those whom I could care less if they heard
But simply becoming mute to the ones I wish could intake the only breaths of my voice that revealed to them my final words.
Final words in which I still cannot bare to put together.
Final words that would remain with them forever.
So as you take your final breath away from the suite you paid dues in and rented from the one Above,
Ill hold on to the moments in time that we shared our love

Everything must come to an end sooner or later. Many times it comes without notice, but some times one is aware of it. So how do you say goodbye when you are aware those words must soon come? When "soon" eventually reaches "now," and time continues to move against one's will.

There are even those who vow to sacrifice their life for something they will leave this world without. Young kids fighting and dying for blocks of cement they call their territory. Wearing colors that signify signing their life away on a contract with invisible ink. Or people killing themselves for the minute of satisfaction with drugs, bad eating habits, etc.

However, goodbye does not only come to those who have passed away, but it can also be directed towards change or old habits. Leaving behind things that once held you back in life, or things that helped you grow in skill and it has become time to say goodbye in order to excel and demonstrate what you have learned.

This blogging began with the goal of proving that Def Poetry should actually be considered Poetry. I was originally going to prove this by using Robert Pinsky's book, "The Sound of Poetry," as a source that I would either agree or disagree with. But after the third or fourth blog, I went off course. Saying goodbye to Pinsky, and Hello to my interpretation of Def Poetry and introducing this new version of expression to people that had no clue about it.

This has been a joyous experience, learning more than I knew before through research, and following on videos I never seen before I began this blog. Relaying it to other people was the most rewarding of them all. All the comments that were left, revealing one's feelings toward my blog, they were greatly appreciated. Although this is a goodbye to the blogging world, the experience will forever be there. Where there is a goodbye, there is always a Hello. Whether a hello into the gates of heaven, or a hello to a new perspective on life. As for me, this is a goodbye to something that has helped me grow in my writing skills and a hello to a place that I can demonstrate and expose what I have learned.

Children Of a Lesser God

No! Stop! Please Stop! Were the muffled words that tried to push through the space between her attackers hands as she fought for her life and one thing she hoped to share with the man of her dreams.

Dream.

Something she could only hope this unforgettable night was. As liquid prayers streamed down her face with each drop relaying a message to someone for help. She tried to scream, but her screams were overshadowed by the loudness of her heart beat. Screams that had no external sound. Screams from a voiceless, powerless young girl. Screams that no one heard but herself. Her eyes glistened with water as she glimpsed at him, taking in all of his facial features. Features she tried to erase from her memory but remained permanent. She closed her eyes as inflictions of pain came as an insertion of a part of him penetrated her, leaving her scarred and unpure even after letting her free.

Free.

A word that she never believe she will ever be. Held captive under his mental power in which she wont ever be the same. The dream she wished that night would have been, was one that a part of her never woke up from. A piece of her died that night and could never be revived.

Somewhere in America a woman is _______ every 2 minutes. A young girl in South Africa has a greater chance of being ______than of learning how to read. South Africa is called the ______ capital of the world. More than 1 million women and children are ______ every year.

There is only one word that can be placed in each space provided, fill in the blank. Its a four letter word that embeds a scar so deep no doctor can heal. Rape! As I tried to put myself in the shoes of a rape victim, I knew the first paragraph could not compare to how a person that has experienced it would describe it. Rape cares for no color, gender, age, etc. The two minutes it took me to think about the next sentence to type, someone, somewhere around the world is being raped and I dont have the power to do anything about it.

In Deb Young's poem, "Children Of a Lesser God," she delivers a story about a young girl that is raped by her uncle. The uncle refers to this as a "special love," in which no one else would understand so it should be a secret held between the two of them. Young's performance of this poem was flawless to me personally. The strong accent used within the piece provides more feeling and allows me to create a setting within my head.

One line that really got to me was when she intentionally broke out of character and said,

"Blood is the color of the rainbow when brown girls consider suicide, and love is not enough."

Would this line pretty much sum it up for most rape victims? Could death appear so beatiful when you live a life of hell? I honestly could not say, but it did make me think.

Deb Young continues speaking about when the young girl would go to school, she would have to walk with her legs open because it would still hurt. She states that the little girl couldnt sit on the bench's because the were too hard, and kids would laugh at her when blood would appear on her uniform because of what her uncle did to her. The audience sat captivated, intaking every word, gesture, and sound. Young speaks about how, the uncle would come almost every night, then one night the little girl slept with a knife. She waited for her uncle to come in the room and as he prepared for his nightly ritual with her, she pierced him with the knife in his spine and all "he felt was pain, pain, pain," as Young describes.

Nearly 70% of all reported sexual assaults occur to children ages 17 and under and 30-40% of victims are abused by by a family member.

At the beginning of her poem, I was saddend by her story but nearing the end when the girl finally did something about the situation and ended her suffering, it became a victorious story. Full of strength, as she took back the power that was once ripped away from her. As she ended her poem, that only thing left to be done was a standing ovation by the audience for her amazing story of empowerment.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-0AV46ndIs

Knock Knock!

Knock! Knock!
Who's there?
Boo
Boo Who?
Why are you crying? lol

This is a popular game that many of us use to play as children, either with our family members or with our friends. But in this poem by Daniel Beaty, Knock! Knock! meant so much more. A game that he yearned to play with his father as a young boy growing up. A game that he once shared with his father. As he would pretend to sleep in his bed almost every night anticipating the usual Knock! Knock! Until one night that knock never came.

In the year 2007, an estimated 1,559,200 children had a father in prison, and nearly half (46%) were children of black fathers. The young boys knock, knocks were ceased because the fist of the man that once playfully pounced on the doors of his son's room were now chained. Closing an unwritten and unexperienced chapter of this young boys life. Beaty continues on speaking about how his mother once took him to go visit his father, as a young child, confused by his surroundings and bewildered towards the situation. Beaty states,

"We reach a room of windows and brown faces,
Behind one of the windows, sits my father,
I jump out of my momma's arms and run joyously towards my papa,
Only to be confronted by this window.
I knock knock trying to break through the glass, trying to get to my father.
I knock knock as my mama pulls me away before my papa can even say a word.
And for years he has never said a word.
And so twenty-five years later I write these words,
For the little boy in me who still awaits his papa's knock."

Steel bars seem to reflect more images of fathers than a young childs eyes. Deprived of that father figure to teach the child all the things that a father should have been there to guide their child through. As Beaty cries out,

"Papa, come home 'cause I miss you,
I miss you waking me up in the morning and telling me you love me,
Papa, come home, 'cause there's thing I dont know,
And I thought maybe you could teach me:
How to shave,
How to dribble a ball,
How to walk to a Lady,
How to walk like a man.
Papa, come home, 'cause I decided a while back that I want to be just like you,
But I'm forgetting who you are."

As years of hurt and pain pours out of the mouth of the young boy enprisoned within the body of a grown man still wounded. As he was forced to father himself and created expressions that he wished were spoken from the lips a the man that use to knock. His father would have told him,

"Dear Son,
I'm sorry I never came home.
For every lesson I failed to teach, hear these words:
Shave in one direction with strong deliberate strokes to avoid irritation.
Dribble the page with the brilliance of your ballpoint pen
Walk like a God and your Goddess will come to you
No longer will I be there to knock on your door
So you must learn to knock for yourself
Knock knock down doors of racism and poverty that I could not
Knock knock down doors of oppurtunity,
For the lost brilliance of the black men that crowd these cells
Knock knock with diligence for the sake of your children
Knock knock for me for as long as you are free,
These prison gates cannot contain my spirit.
The best of me still lives within you
Knock knock with knowledge that you are my son, but you are not my choices.

Of the Nation's 72.3 million minor children in 1999, 2.1% had a parent in State or Federal prison. Although the footsteps of the people that we once should have followed dissappeared, we learn to create and follow our own footsteps in which only our shoes can fit. As Beaty said, we are our father's son's and daughter's, but we are not their choices. We are the foundation of future greatness.

Knock! Knock!
Who's there?
We Are! (the future).

www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhT_e6D3DeA

Cheaters

In an Ebony article, experts estimated that nearly 75 percent of married men, or men invloved in serious relationships, cheat. Cheating has become so common that whenever I hear someone say "He cheated on me," or "She cheated on me," the only thing I can really say is, "Oh for real? Thet's so sad." I cant even get surprised anymore because people do it so much, especially now, that unfortunatley, it's becoming a norm in our society.

The latest news with Tiger Woods, had a successful life as an accomplished golf player with a beautiful wife and kids waiting for him at home, was outshined by the undercover world with over ten mistresses. The only thing that shocked me within this predicament was that amount of woman that gladly came out to say they slept with him without any shame at all, and even professed their love for him on national television. Are you serious?

While watching some poetry online, I came across a Def Poetry poet by the name of Thea Monyee and her poem "Woman to Woman," and I knew I just had to write about it. It was hilarious and educational at the same time, as she spoke to mainly all the "side chicks" out there that is sleeping around with someone elses man then gloating about it as she (side chick) talks about it to the other woman (original girlfriend).

Thea Monyee delivery was well done, as she kept the audience entertained to the point where even men clapped, laughed, and nodded their heads in agreement. As she speaks on how the side chick calls her house telling her what color man's unndergarments are, and how good he is in bed. Monyee replies by saying, the boxers he was wearing she bought them and how good he is in bed, she taught him. Within the Ebony article, it also speaks about why most men cheat, one expert stated that men cheat because they are frustrated over present relationship. The newness and excitement of a relationship soon wore -off and the male begans to feel like their partner is more critical on him, argumenative, and doesnt give him the attention he deserves. This is when he sneaks off to lurk for an undercover lover, which is pretty much what Monyee says,

"When he cant deal with me
He goes to you to get me off his mind
But it never works see,
He gets real still as he lays between the sheets,
As he's tuning you out and picturing me,
Cus you put up with that sh*t that I just wont deal with,
Cus I'm strong in who I am, and He loves that about me,
It's just sometimes he cant stand the reality that he doesnt deserve me,
And when he feels that way,
Well thats when he comes crawling to your dirty sheets."

Although this poem is directed to the "side chick," whom is definately at fault because she called gloating. But does that leave the man off the hook and gives him a liable reason for cheating? Does that make it ok for him to cheat, because the woamn understands why he did it? So many question came to mind after hearing this poem, and in my opinion, there is no Liable reason for cheating, and although society is somehow forming it into a norm because it is done so much, doesnt make it right.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XxKGJaWsYk

Dating Myself =)

"Everywhere I go, I see cute people with ugly people,
And I can't help but to ask myself, "what does she see in that guy?"
Inner beauty? Well I have a whole lot of that
I see these happy couples and use to think, "what do I have to do to get a girl like that?"
And then that evolved into, "what do I have to do to get a girl?"

I must say, the first time I heard this poem I couldnt stop laughing, the first line drew me in, as I sat and anticipated plenty more laughter to follow. This week I decided to bring a lighter subject to the table with a humorous poem by Poetri called "Dating Myself." The title speaks for itself when it comes to the content within the poem. Poetri speaks about his issues on finding a woman that embodies all the qualities he wants. After time his search is diminishes into just finding a girlfriend period. In result of never finding someone, he decides to start dating himself.

This I must say was a good point. We always try to find someone that is just like us, and can perform all the needs that we already can do on our own, so why not Date Ourseleves? We can fulfill ourselves better than anyone else because we know what makes us happy (except for sexual aspects). Poetri goes on describing all of the pros on dating himself, and even conitnues on with saying how he plans on "being with himself until the very end, or until something better comes along."

I know alot of people that could relate to this poem to a certain extent. A friend of mine seems to have a problem finding the "right" guy. All the one's that try to get with her are either not attractive, but have a great personality, is a player, or just isn't her type. So when I heard this poem, she was the first person to come to mind. I would suggest dating herself, but then again, warnings of psychosis might began to arise and I just would not be able to live with myself if I caused that to happen. Unless she was truly happy :).

Behind all the humor within this poem is a hidden meaning, that I missed the first time from laughing out loud. I watched the youtube video again and realized that what Poetri is trying to say is that before a person can truly be in a relationship with someone else, they must learn to love themselves and be content with all the qualities they possess. There are so many movies and books on relationships and I think the first rule in all of them should be Love Yourself First. All of your insecurities and low self-esteem shall disperse once you truly get to know and love you for you. Then and only then can you find someone else to fulfill everything and more for you.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFhFaRKVpTY

Ignorance is a Bliss

Black and discriminated by society
Slashes and whips of pain on every slaves body
“Anything is better than a life like this
Death to us became a wish
No life, no names, no rights
Just strikes of pain with no freedom in sight
Stripped away our skin but never got a hold of our dignity
So we plotted our escape knowing the penalty
Dead or alive
We were better off knowing that we tried
Scared of nothing, and our hearts just lit
Cus we knew our life began as soon as we found the guts to re-claim it
Death was upon us, but we had no fear
For once in our lives, freedom was finally near”

My mind began to wander to a place I have never been but only imagined. With Black History Month inching closer to an end, I envisioned myself in an environment where the color of my skin granted me full access to a world of torment, pain, and enprisonment. This soon led to my wrath. I empathized with people I never had the chance to meet, I created a dialogue in my mind of what I believed one in their position would say. The words leaked out of my mind, like ink from my ballpoint pen. I entered the world of slavery and found myself sitting at my desk with the only evidence I had of my adventure laying right in front of me. Black ink on a white piece of paper. I sat there staring at my poem and could not think of a title.

Nigger, Negro, Colored, Black, African American, and now even in the 21st century, the word Nigga has resurfaced. All the terms and maybe more have been the names granted to us not only by slave owners but by ourselves. Why is it that every few years, We get a change of name? In the poem "A Black American," Smokey Robinson brought forth the same question. Centuries ago during the time of Slavery, Blacks were known as Slaves or Niggers, then few years later, We were called Negros, from there the name Colored, Black, African Americans, and back to Nigger but with an 'a' at the end instead (Nigga) came about. So which term is correct, if any? According to Smokey Robinson, "Black" should be the word to describe us. As an American blessed to be tanned with a "brown" skin tone, I honestly don't mind being called Black or African American, but when the word Nigger or "Nigga" is thrown my way, then there is a problem.

The thing that really pushes my buttons is when many "Black" people revert back to the term "Nigga." How is it that we can prouldy use a term that was once used to defame and insult our ancestors. This word has been placed on a peddle stool of controversy for many years, but yet it is supposedly used as a term of endearment. Nigger, was a term not used as a tool of oppression but used for its purpose because it meant ignorant, which means lack of education or knowledge of something. Nigger did not need to be used as a tool of oppression because being a slave, having all your rights stripped away, and even in the constitution, "blacks" were categorized as only two/thirds human. Im sure that was oppression enough.

The argument that many "Blacks" use to persuade society that the term "Nigga" is acceptable is that they have taken a term that was once used to defame and insult us, and in turn reversed and changed the meaning to endearment and brotherhood. By changing the meaning to something that supposedly brings the "Black" society together, they believe takes the power away from the people that once forced that name upon us. In a way I can understand their arguement on the situation but I still disagree with the usage of the term. I believe that this term only reopens the fleshy wounds that slavery left on the black race.

We should stop dwelling in our past and take advantage of the oppurtunities that lies ahead of us that were granted by the bloodshed of our ancestors. So who am I? I am a young brown skinned, educated, American, and as I sit at my desk thinking of a title for this poem above, I decide to name it, "The People Formally Known as Niggers."

I Will Proudly Take My "F"

"Sometimes I feel like I'm sittin' in the back row of Barbie and Ken 101
A class we are all in, but never seem to learn from
Some general ed requirement for
Students of American culture"

Society is a universal classroom that we are constanlty receiving a daily dose of brainwash from. A place where who we are and what we should become is laid out for us on television, magazines, billboards, etc. A mirror image of what young females urge to be is depicted through models that actually believe that "zero" is a size women should be in order to be accepted or considered beautiful. The issue of societal insecurities among young women is something that is hardly recognized and needed to be addressed. Rafael Casal's execution of his poem "Barbie and Ken 101," was wonderful.

When I say "young women" around the world, it includes me. Although I have limits to my daily studies of societal brainwash, I don't exclude myself and speak upon the issue as a hypocrite, but as a victim of this corruption. Trying to keep up with the new fashion trends, new gadgets, knowing what's "in" and what's "out." These are the basics to the little part of the big picture that I partake in. However, many females go through extremes such as starving themselves because they dont't believe they are trim enough. According to The National Institute of Mental Health, between 5-10 percent of girls and women suffer from eating disorders such as anorexia, bulimia, binge eating disorder, or other associated dietary conditions.

"My teacher has no face
She is every Revelon model women have ever chased
Her lectures come through magazines in beauty shops & add campaigns,
Shit, just turn on your tv
This just in, a skewed perspective for todays youth
Y'al ladies aint thin enough, fellas aint trim enough, wanna be sexy?
Y'al don't go to the gym enough,
Cut to commercial,
C'mon just come tune in to our maintenance team,
Convince you're ugly then tell you how to fix it with maybeline
Perpetually started by these dolls marketed in the late 50's named
Barbie and Ken,
Hence, the class I'm in."

The administration that provides the notes for us to soak in, they are faceless. They show the norms of our world and turn them into faults and insecurities of a human being. Freckles, pimples, different size noses, chins, lips, etc., should be changed to what is "right" or "acceptable." So this makes it ok for young girls to hide there true beauty under coats of make-up, or lead to excessive measures such as surgery. The number of kids 18 and under having plastic surgery rose from just under 60,000 in 1997 to nearly 225,000 in 2003, according to statistics compiled by the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery. How has this become a "norm" in our society?

"Less gut less pudge less lunch less real, more looks more love more Barbie appeal?

When little kids idols are Nicki Minaj or Lil' Kim, then we have a problem. Their construed mindset of beauty comes from molding themselves into looking like a "Barbies," where fake everything is "in." We were all uniquely created so that we could be easily differentiated, but if we all become a mirror image of what our faceless teachers (better known as "society") depicts as beauty, we diminish our originalty and began to lose ourselves.

"The most attractive women are the ones who don't give a f**k
So screw your teachings your lessons and plans
You skewed sick distant relative of the man
Your plan for brainwashin' my baby I reject
I'm walkin' out of this class, and I will proudly take, my F!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGsTfCL1Joc