Bullet Proof Soul

Poem Taken from the book Honey, Please, Let Me Tell You How It Went


Thanks to my blog homie and her awesome and informative website: BlackFeminism.Org.

She gave me the heads up on this powerful author, Dana White

You spoiled brat, still sucking on the tit
A hundred excuses, and I’m tired of this
It’s not my fault, you always say
Blame it all on slavery
Even though you helped make things this way

Tribalry was and is a way of life
Long before Europeans came
We continually had strife
Divide and conquer, that was the way
Africans made it easy, divided to this day

But liquor stores, cigarettes
And drugs are thrown at us
Trees, crack, cocaine, and angel dust
The system’s unfair, I’m innocent
I couldn’t stand to see my kids hungry
No, I don’t have the rent

Excuses, excuses for not being on your feet
Get out of that walker
No more pacifier or infant seat
Excuses, excuses, lies, and deceit
For shirking you responsibilities
For the names you’re calling me

Bitch, freak, slut, ho,
We’re dancing to it, too
These words maintain the status quo
And we’re still blaming who?

Sisters singing about catching their man
Singing about being abused
Sisters singing about being hurt
Singing about being used

We’re starting to expect it
Survivors now we’re called
The family unit is a memory
Some homes have piss in the hall

I’ve seen men fighting women in the street
High class women in the ER beat
A friend of mine experienced this atrocity, too
Eve sang about it, How about you?

Lies, pain, denial, deceit
Some might say, don’t air dirty sheets
Don’t tell, be quiet, girl, please be discreet
No one must know
You’d better learn to make believe

I’m weaning him off, no more milk at the breast
Wake up from your nap, get out of the nest
Excuses, excuses, man it’s getting old
Grow up black man, if the truth be told
Everyone’s laughing, all the way to the bank
White, yellow, red, and brown
It’s yourself you can thank
The biggest consumer dressed to the teeth
Styling, wilding, ignoring your kids
And disrespecting me

Chivalry is dead, in the hood and out
If he won’t tap that ass, lady, that way is out
Your fight is not with him, it comes from within
Start with how to treat black women
That’s where you could begin
From clitoridectoomies to “Ho’s in the Hood”
Abuse and maltreatment
Your M.O.’s no good

Jamaica, Trinidad, Barbados, too
St. Thomas, St. Vincent, Greneda, and St. Lou
The weaker vessel is a dirty joke
Or in the words one guyanese spoke
She was, she cook, she clean home base
That’s right mon, she know she place

Pimps, dealers, players, crypt,
Husbands, boyfriends, bloods, addicts
Ex-cons, jailbirds, alcoholics,
Lovers, friends, dogs, and tricks

Size 4-44 and the baby’s daddy is gone
Dark skinned, light skinned,
Short hair and long
Doctor, lawyer, engineer, chief
Cook, laborer, driver, thief

Titles mean nothing, both rich and poor, too
“A man’s gon’ be a man,” more excuses for you
“Don’t hate the player, just hate the game,”
Just more excuses, there’s no need for a name

While drive-by and robberies are all organized,
Crabfest and ski trips, too
Boat rides, bus rides all organized
And we’re still blaming who?
While rape, assault, and murder take its toll
Where’s our organized neighborhood patrol?
Facts not fiction, for you baby Boo
You need tough love, I’m disappointed in you

Listen up, black man
The truth is in your face
Each time you disrespect your woman
You disrespect yourself and your race

.


So THIS is what I call a POEM!

Reading this has inspired about 5000 blog posts, some that will agree, some that will disagree with the messages here. So as they roll around in my head (along with bioinformatic terms) I will let this poem keep me mindful of some things.

I really do love the bruthas, and I don't think they are totally to blame for everything going wrong but this kind of poem makes you REALLY think! Is tough love needed???