WOKE and Tired

Now I see why they say ignorance is bliss because being “woke” is exhausting as f%#k !   It means that when you hear  throwback songs, you recognize the misogynistic, pedophilic lyrics and can no longer stomach R.Kelly’s   Bump and Grind, or you freeze when you catch Biggie’s lyrics “Kickin’ the doorway in the fourth floor, all I heard was Biggie don’t hit me no more.”  ( Like damn dude, you doing all of that because she cheated?)  It's side eye to guys who want you to call them Daddy or think a woman's pubic region should be completely bare...like dude really, I'm not 10!
 It means caring about rights…your rights, LGBT rights, women’s rights and civil rights. It means that you become painfully aware of  “isms” and the harm they cause others. It means microagressions become MACRO. Then having to decide whether to respond with an all out read or a clever clapback.

It means that instead of just blaming people for their  problems, you analyze all of the systematic factors affecting them. You think globally,  lay awake at night with images from the news, even though you know the media distorts EVERYTHING.  And once you know, you can’t un-know, which creates this sense of responsibility…to act. 
Speak up. Educate. Participate. Advocate. 
See what I mean?  That shit's exhausting. Guess I better rest up because the next 3 years 11 months will require all of that and more.

On Martin Luther King’s Birthday

With the release of the movie Selma, I’ve seen many social media posts of people being surprised by MLK’s adultery. My first thought was that it was no secret. Sure, they didn’t share this with us when we were taught in school, but I really thought folks new about this. My second thought was that he was indeed a man, a human, someone capable of mistakes and intentional wrongdoings. But it’s hard for some to conceive that about this figure, whom we’ve dedicated a national holiday to, whom we built a monument in honor of , whose lines from the “I have Dream” speech are embedded in our memory since elementary school, and  for many the only  positive male African-American figure they were ever taught.

            I mean think about it… this man was thrust into leadership at 26 with the Montgomery Boycott. When he led that march in Selma he was just 36 year old. I am 36 years old today, and there are already times I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders with the responsibility I have to our youth. I could only imagine living under the constant fear of death for my family and myself, to have my home bombed and still have to go and speak to people who look to me for leadership and hope. And I’m sure that sense of power was equally ego-boosting, so much that, yes MLK “hollered back” when women smiled his way, or showed  up at his hotel room. Groupie love isn’t just for musicians and movie stars. These flaws serve to remind us that although we have our weaknesses; we are capable of incredible greatness, a greatness that cannot be erased I am still in awe at not only the strength of him and his wife, but of all the others who trusted his leadership, who believed when there was reason to doubt, who risked their lives and freedom for us.  I dedicated one of my poems called Our Legacy to them:

 “The Legacy you leave starts today,

 And you can say

That you don’t care,

But you are only here

 Because Martin and Malcolm both died

 At the age of 39

For the sake of equality,

 Because millions marched and protested

 In the name of freedom

And now you owe it to them…
toy carry on our legacy.”

What legacy will you leave?