You 4

I am tired of protecting men who use the church as their playground. For money, for women, for power, for fame. I am tired. I am angry. And I get to be. I am tired of being nice. Nice is NOT woman's work. I am tired of watching women believe men like you. I am disgusted that I did. Sex addiction is sex addiction. The desire and the unwillingness to control it does not end because you spend time in South Africa. Do you know the AIDS stats?

It bothers me that you stand in the pulpit and tell your jokes and then juggle more women than God only knows. And God does know. But what about us? AAAAAlllll of the women you juggled and lied to. Lied about. Paraded in front of the others as "friends."

I am confused, even about this post. What it will do to you, your reputation, your feelings, me? And why? Why do we do that? Protect the feelings of our abusers. It is abuse by the way. To leave my bed and get into hers, and then hers. It is abuse by the way. To run your business in the name of God. To collect money in His name.

I go back and forth about whether or not this is right. Putting it out this way. You know, "vengeance is mine saith the Lord." But this is not vengeance dear. This is love. Vengeance would have been me slashing your tires (like I wanted to), busting your windows, denting your fancy rims. But I restrained. I am older than that. When I pray for the hungry to be fed and then walk by a hungry person and don't feed him the sandwich in my bag, what was my prayer for? To pass the buck? When I pray for justice and then say nothing about allll of the women you are having sex with and letting them believe that they are the only ones and climbing out of their beds and into another pulpit, then what are my prayers for? I am being kind in this post. You know I am. We were fooled. We ignored the scratch behind our ear that was only Mother Spirit telling us to "let this one pass." We stayed.

Remember when you told me your ex was crazy? Crazy because she sent me a message warning me about you. I didn't listen. I didn't want to. I wanted to believe she was crazy too. So when I called to give your new one a similar message, is that who I was? Your new crazy? My prayers for her. For you too.

There is no way you will be able to keep up this kind of life. No matter how long it has been. This post doesn't even scratch the surface of what I know. And I do. I know.

My prayers for all of the ones who know about you and watched me love you and said nothing. My prayers for all of the women believing you. For all of the congregations spending their money on you. My prayers for you. My prayers for me.

Jaha Zainabu

You 3

"musta thought I was gonna go out like a chump. Like a sucka or somethin'." Pharcyde

You 2 (w.b.)

there are easier friends to have than i
i suppose
more comfortable women to be around
i guess
there is always a younger booty
flatter stomach
more money
better job out there
i reckon

but hearts like mine come few
i know

i will not take on your load
of fear and blame
i will find the freedom i need
to make peace with whats so right now

there is too much talk about
what i dont have
wont do
the economy
who will be president next

scarcity is a big lie you know
and so i will let you
and the others in your ear
live it by yourselves

i was tired anyway
of juggling ponies
and swallowing fireswords
only to your side eyeing and teetering of your hand
to suggest my missing the mark again

it would be too uncomplicated
for me to play your victim now
i am older than that
i am bigger than you

i was broken when we met
running from some yesterday
and needed a soft place to land
for a time i thought you were that place

and you pretended to be

but the wind from all that running
left me deaf
to red flags waving
and sirens shreeking

i told Spirit i was grown
and i saw what i wanted to see
and She let me

and you did too

so here i am
declaring myself
the source of my own problem
not just you
the yesterdays i ran from
before

you see, i am every liar
cheater, abuser, thief
who has ever sat at my table
drank water from my cup
kissed me between my thighs
how else could you enter my space
except some lesson for me to learn
about life
about love
about the possibility of me
and so i delete myself
from my molecular structure
and when i forget
the delete button
will be there again

You (w.b.)

I read a quote once that said "how you do anything is how you do everything." That would explain it I guess. How you could misrepresent yourself to me and also do it to the churches you work for. Wow. They should know though. Don't you think? About who you really are.

the flow

having a great and productive day today. doing work on RED STORIES, my new one woman show. looking forward to it. look out for more info.

who's in a word

she can't say nigger
you can say fag
he's a racist
you called him a beaner
they lazy
you livin' off a trust fund
she nappyheaded
you got a perm
she a blackie
you got a tan
they gointa hell
you burned the crosses
she told you she was hungry
there are your leftovers
he been married ten years to the same white woman
you cheatin' on three sistas now
and i'm the bitch?

VOICES

I saw the play VOICES last night at the Wilshire Ebell Theatre. It was an incredible blend of black history, American history, Negro history, our dance, our music, our stories. Yes, Negro. While we don't refer to ourselves as "Negro" the luxories we accept today came from the sacrifices of those who did.

The play is about a young woman writer who travels through time (sent actually by her grandfather). She meets people she has only read about in history books, and some she had never heard of before. "Baby girl" begins her writing journey seeking to tell interesting stories and not those old Negro stories she had heard so many times and had considered boring. No, she was going to tell GRRREEAT stories! After her journey she realizes her calling and is inspired to tell the stories of our ancestors. Stories she thought were boring she finds are rich, awesome and inspiring. Someone has to tell the stories of our past. Go see the play VOICES and see how "Baby girl" becomes excited about doing that.

quote from Maggie Kuhn

"Speak your mind. Even if your voice shakes."

freestyle poem # 144433399930220.2

in the space of releasing
letting go
moving forward
pleased
forgiving myself
for believing so many lies
so many times
honoring myself
for seeing clearly
loving myself
for loving myself
for choosing me
choosing life
dreams
passions
loving myself for loving me

I am

I am the lack that exists in my finances, and has existed in my finances for many generations and I delete myself from my molecular structure.

I am free, joyful, wealthy.

soldiers work - draft 2

slaughtered by force, by AIDS, by starvation
i want my words, our words, all of our words to heal
there is no fairy dust in our pens
only ink
blue black
like me, like them

what good is poetry
if it cannot keep them from
living in fear of death
of life

this was all planned i suppose
met over with tea and milk
"they no longer kow why they are fighting, nor whom
violence for violence's sake"

those are my arms in eastern congo
reaching for freedom
my sweat, my heart beating, my breath musty
that's me, that's you
hiding behind bushes, dirt, exposed

sexual assaults five times more that gunshots
they is not multiplication
they are women
real eyes that burn
real stretch marks and skin carried real babies
heavy hearts that hold hope
somewhere

dear God how can i make my words my life
mean something to them

in a bed across the way
a man is chanting
a woman is knitting
"the smell is awful" a doctor warns
"she's only fourteen" whispers an aide

four years old children should be
sticking out tongues and dancing to drums
eighty years old grandmothers and grandfathers
should be passing down stories and lies and God
not dying from or living with plunder and rape

sodomized men
fathers forced to commit incest
with daughters, brothers, sisters

she passed out before they finished with her
"eight or ten of them raped me"

parents and siblings commanded to witness
husband tied to the hut to watch his wife be raped
by men he cannot fight
there are no words for the coiling of his blood
the pain in her spirit

over and over several men gang rape a woman

look at us in our fancy goodwill clothes
with our notebooks and pens
ready to set the world free
we are numb to hearing about the commonplace assaults
as if we are watching a CSI marathon
this is real life there
as we eat steak and complain about organic or processed food
the economy, permed or locked hair
and the presidents birthplace

our sisters are domestic and sexual slaves
women and girls kidnapped
the evening grows louder with whispers
as armed men divide into groups
just after nightfall

soldiers work - draft 1

by force, by AIDS, by starvation
what good is my poem
if it cannot stop this
my words feel little now
i want them to heal

planned destabilization
they no longer know why they are fighting
nor whom
violence for violences sake

eastern congo
sexually assaulted victims
four or five times more than gunshot wounds
they are not numbers
they are women
real eyes that burn
real fingers that dont want to feel anymore
real heads that shake in dispair
hearts maybe hearts that hold hope
somewhere however faint

in a bed across the way
a man is chanting
a woman is knitting
"the smell is awful" a doctor warns
"she's only fourteen" whispers an aide

victims range in age from four to eighty
sodomized men
fathers forced to commit incest
with daughters, with brothers, with sisters
she passed out before they finished with her
"eight or ten of them raped me"
whole family olbiged to witness
children brought in
husband tied up to the hut
home, sacred
repeatedly several gang rape a woman
commonplace assaults

domestic and sexual slaves
women and girls kidnapped
plunder and rape
armed men divide into groups
just after nightfall