How about —
why do you try to hold my anger above me, as if it strips me of any credibility? why do you have to dangle my unhappiness in front of me?
I’ve become the most ultimately unamerican I can be — I’m an unhappy brown girl caught in a white man’s world.
I’m pretty sure if you grew up being stared at or called a sandn***er you wouldn’t be too thrilled either. If you had to wonder whether or not your masjid was going to be shot up or if your mother was going to get cussed out at the grocery store you wouldn’t be so carefree.
My anger isn’t a sign that I’m weak and that my opponents control me. My anger reminds me I’m alive and I’m still here.
Rest in peace.
Past midnight when the sun is no where in sight
There lies the struggle to maintain the fight
Don’t give in don’t stop the try
Tears turn dry I can’t cry I won’t cry
Trying constantly to paint rainbows in the sky
Ghetto streets turn dry as blood spills in endless crime
I can try to paint the rainbows but the ghetto vibes will turn it dry & they will just cry
I want Liberation. The other week in Tucson I gave $5 to a man who looked like he could use it, and he cried and hugged me and spoke of Robin Hood, and we spoke about the idea of Robin Hood, (hey we need more Robin Hoods) and when I told him I wished him the best He gave me a depth of a look and he told me, “Everyone says that to me. I’ve just stopped listening.” And my heart felt a fracture, felt to be precariously shackled to a depth opening beneath my feet. And I felt like something slipped between us two and said “That’s just the way it is. Somethings can never change. That’s just the way it is.” Came to haunt us two, and beg for our votes, and told us not to trust each other, and told us we could never be free of this Hell called U.S. instead instead of us two, three, all of us, us us us, we one. I want this stupid Fucking “US” government to stop thinking it has the right to make the most money Because I hate the costs of the deaths And Because I love the Depth of the Lives
to show they’re bigger
I’ll beat you to a pulp, little girl.
They use their loud voices
breath in your face and
I’ll show you who’s boss. Who da fuck you think you are, bitch?
worst thing you can call a man
“C’mon, ladies” — sneering football coach/drill sergeant — the biggest insult Men say threatening things on your blog
and send revolting pictures
of other women
beaten cut bloody headless bruised and battered
This could be you, watch out, stay in line
don’t speak your mind
challenging the WAY IT IS. yeah, yeah, I know women threaten people too
women hit each other, are cruel and sharp and fuck you up.
But but but
we all know the but
women-hating is what societies are built on
it pumps men up, makes them men
to put women in their place.
threaten us with extinction
Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch And yeah, yeah, I know it’s not all men,
there are good men. But if you are breathing on this planet
if you are hearing my enraged words
you know a man like this
he’s in your family (he’s in mine)
he’s at your work (he’s at mine)
he’s watching you across the library (he’s watching me)
he’s bullying you on Facebook (he’s bullying me) change it. stop accepting it
To the good men:
say no to woman-hating woman-silencing speech
no laughing at wife-beating jokes
“rapeable” is not a compliment
step in when other men act badly
stand next to us, the women
and say not in my name. men can change
But they sure do like to threaten us