St. Louis stand UP!!

I got mad respect for ALL the hustlers out there especially those hailing from St. Louis, MO. Its a beautiful thing to see my chicas doing thangs from Stl. Much love.

Tiffany Fox- Jelly Beans

Random Thought about my writing

What does it mean?

When money don’t mean much.

When fame is unwanted.

What does it then mean?

Would our all still reside within any of our work if there was no promise of riches? How does this change the attitude towards our artwork. Everything is not up for sale. Some things should stand unobserved by a scrutinizing eye. No price guns ready to label our hearts and sale our dreams. Are we the auctioners of our own damn dreams? Where do our dreams and hopes reside? If the place is within our hearts…then these aspirations are sacred. My, have I violated the sacredness of my art. It has turned on me so to speak…rephrased it is I who have turned on it. What does it mean to write with intent? What does it mean to have intent in everything you do? From taking a shit down to composing the most beautiful piece of work ever. Its hard to get this back. Writing from a place so deep within your heart. Its as if the words were already there from lifetimes ago. I told myself stories. Perhaps stories that resides within me. The stories of my ancestors who live within me. The stories of all of the spirits travels. I need to take a different approach to writing. Desperately.

Continuance

She was afraid to continue. Her hopes were so inflated that the fear of falling frightened her. To fall from such heights would ensure certain death.

She longed to continue. Even though her heart pounded with this longing…her body would not allow her to move.

Frozen.

In.

Fear.

Unaware of time. She waited for that moment. The moment when she would regain her strength, take a strong step forward.

And fly.

So many expectations clouded her mind. She measured herself up to different entities. Her essence couldn’t truly be felt because of this.

This constant…her essence wanted desperately to ground her.

To show her the strength she had been searching for had been within all along

Change of pace right quick

This is pure audio dope...

Directions from a Lost Girl

Now...y'all should be GRATEFUL...I'm releasing some good shit. lol But seriously I'm an artist. I pour my soul into my work so like Ms. Badu stated, I'm sensitive about my ish. Enjoy tho...


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I was a black girl lost. Not your average black girl though. Not the video black girls with long wavy hair and bright skin. I was that blue black, permed hair and fresh weave type of girl.

I was a black girl scared. The world didn’t like me very much. My sun-kissed complexion was mistaken for a smooch of death. I was avoided and smacked with sayings: Damn you fine to be so black! My difference threatened to exclude me from all things pleasurable…that scared the shit out of me.

I was a black girl misguided. I tied my stomach in knots as I gazed upon my deep plum colored skin in disgust. Slipping ‘Michael Jackson Pills’ under my tongue hoping that as it dissolved so would the Black Death that plagued my skin and so would the frowns of the world, changing them into praise and approval. Instead of hatred and repulsion.

I was a black girl hurting. You know, it’s hard for dark skin girls to look pretty. I smiled at this comment as my heart and self-esteem shattered into pieces.

We usually only use light skin girls in videos because it’s hard to see the expression of darker skin girls…A knife jabbed into an already open wound and twisted from side to side. I was numb to the pain it all began to sound the same…

Yellow Bone long haired star…Yellow Model Chick…I like ‘em long haired thick red bone…And my bitch a mutt too…Yellow…Yellow…Yellow…NOT YOU…NOT YOU…

We would love to put you at the front desk but…but we fear you might scare people off…Even organizations directed towards me, NAACP, feared my complexion. Shoving me in the back, grins plastered across their faces with fables of good intentions falling from their lips. I reminded them too much of a continent long forgotten.

I was a black girl too far gone. ‘Scientific’ studies exclaiming I be the ugliest woman alive. The darker I be the further I get from femininity? Dark skin, only right for our men. I believed it more everyday. The mirror turned on me and began to chant names the world had taught it…Monkey…Too damn Black…If only you were lighter…You so pretty but too dark for me… I started to seek ways to make the pain subside and quiet the reflection I no longer could recognize.

I was the shell of a black girl. Pain echoed and bounced around in my head like the resounding sounds of gunshots. Each pop let off ripped through me spilling out the remainder of my sanity. Dreams of looking in the mirror and seeing flowing hair and porcelain skin. Waking up to the nightmare of being not only black, but a dark skin black woman. I would rather stay sleep.

I was a black girl broken. Empty pill bottles and flashing lights three times in my life. Drifting off to the dream state where I could be the porcelain skin, flowing haired girl in the mirror. I was yanked back by paramedics and loud sobs. My eyes would flutter open, the sun too bright. Everything was out of focus. My worst enemy staring into my eyes. My loved ones holding a mirror up to me asking…what do I see? I did not know.

I am a black girl searching. Comfort within my skin seemed the hardest to obtain when my world always tell me I’m just a black stain. The saying, Beautiful Black Woman had an asterisk that leads you to examples of Kims and Roses. This left me feeling like a withered flower, not worthy of adoration. Born in Babylon both dark and woman who else did I see to be…?

What do you see? What do you see?

I took directions from a lost girl. She was not amused by my abasement. She related to the pain in my eyes. The only one that could identify with my torment inside was the one I couldn’t bear to look in the face. She threatened to ask me questions I couldn’t answer. What do you see? My reflection became clearer. I attempted to wipe off the hateful names it had learned. Some came off right away, others left streaks and remnants. She whispered I know you very well.

The lost girl reflected became more familiar every day. Her abysmal affection drained the grotesque puss of self-hatred and doubt from my abscessed heart.

Stains still on my mirror.

Dreams still haunt me.

But love overflows from the mirror to my heart and directs me.

I am a black girl searching.

I am a black girl healing.

You may notice the vibe of my poems have changed. This is because the vibe of me has changed. I've began to explore different aspects of my spirituality. I'm beginning to explore a concept of African spirituality that contends we are aspects of "god", "creator" or "divine energy" and everything we need to save ourselves resides within. In other words, we are 'gods'. Even though I see myself as having 'god essence' within I still acknowledge the source...the one creator. This is an interesting subject I encourage those who have questions about god, religion and spirituality to do a lil research on this concept. And for those who don't agree with this concept I encourage you also to do some research or ask me any questions in the comment section! I consider myself a open and cool dude so no sincere (notice I said sincere...I'm cool but if you decide to get ignant...I'll oblige you and do the same! :D) question is off limits!

Peace and Progress.

-Asata Rashidi Chike Asani

Awaken

The tingling starts igniting the power

It threatens to consume me.

It pulsates against my palms.

Through my groin.

Up into my breast

And bursts out of my heart in a fiery fashion

My heart beat pounds in a rhythmic nature

Crashing against my chest the waves

Of my emotions are thrown outward

And drowns the world

In sweet bliss.

Untitled

My pain runs deep…

Like the river.

It threatens to drown me.

Heart shattered to pieces.

Like the mirror.

The shards lay around me.

The water and glass reflect a face

It scars me.

Eyes jet black

No white in sight.

Like the deep abyss of the galaxies above

My pain knows no ending.

My growth becomes more familiar with the concept

Of forever because

My pain runs deep…

Like the river.

If you haven't noticed...I'm not consistent...AT ALL. Hell, I'm OK with this.
:D
 I thank those who bare with me. My appreciation is infinite. SOOO...here are some poems for you.

I am washed in the blood…of my ancestors.

Jesus and I never got to know each other.

I was told that if I accepted his word that

My heart may be cleansed.

That Jesus could relay my word to God.

As if I was not worthy of speaking with God on my own.

*as usual..the poem belongs to Asata Asani but feel free to share as long as you acknowledge the source.*