B.I.T.C.H. Megan Thee Stallion
Hey y’all, it’s been a long week. I hope everyone is doing okay and living well. It was super devastating to hear of the loss of Kobe and his 13 year old daughter Gigi and her teammates and their family. I can’t believe a lot of our legends are dying, even though we’re all human and it will happen. It’s just terrible to witness when it’s that tragic and unexpected. Kobe meant so much to a lot of people, especially black boys who looked up to him as an amazing basketball player and truly one of the best. (This wasn’t determined posthumously, we been knew Kobe is one of the greats). So I just empathize with the families and friends and fans of these people that were lost.
on another note, I’ve been thinking about trying to write angry poems like I used to…but I’m not angry. That may not sound like a huge problem, in fact it sounds amazing that I’m not that stressed or emotionally exhausted as I once was. But honestly I think I have the same thing Adele has 😂 where her greatest songs were when she was completely devastated or pissed. Poetry is more lenient than music in terms of emotions and sounds and whatnot, but if I wanna drag someone I kinda have to tell the truth and have someone to drag. And I don’t. So yay me, but poetry wise that’s a little tiny bit irritating. I feel like Hulk in Endgame, I’m just not that angry so I can’t go beast mode. In these emotionally quiet moments I just try to make observations and write about those connections. So I’m trying to think and speak on how I love hip hop but hip hop’s language, inception, and key players are pretty misogynistic. So I want to write about the language black women have learned to speak and translate in hip hop to get to a place like today where black women are DOMINATING hip hop. It’s pretty great to see. So this isn’t finished at all, I just have a start and that’s all. I gotta find my flow and figure out where I’m tryna go from my setting. I tend to write body stanzas before beginning stanzas. So this isn’t in any final order
For Black Girls Who Love Hip Hop
Shake that money maker baby
Don’t play with it
Let me know what you’re worth
How much you shake is how much he’ll spend Nelly swipes his card in between ass cheeks
We are convinced those were mutual transactions.
The black girl that listens to N.W.A. has to skip over the lyrics that says they’ll grab a bitch by her nappy ass weave
But she still says fuck the police
Because she meant that, was never no question.
I have learned my name is bitch in this genre
In this internal communication that black men and women have in front of a judge mental world
They wait for confirmation to call us niggas outside the concert
They wait to smack our ass when we twerk in joy and call us bitch in the bathroom
They wait to be our friends and be invited to a cookout where we do the Cupid shuffle with the black trinity
That changes from generation to generation
We argue over who brought the potato salad, and we don’t notice the hands that take plates to go regardless of if they made anything.
How do we come to terms with a language that hates us
Uses our bodies as tables to play their spades on....
