Perspective

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This piece is dedicated to the children who have lost their lives to school.

It’s not even worth it. I’m not gonna walk down the 10th grade hall. She’s gonna find me if I do. I hate that feeling when we lock eyes. I hate that she and her friends sense my fear, like a ferocious pit bull out for a kill. Being here is hard. Sometimes, I wish she weren’t here. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t here. I’ve tried to not be here last year, and 6 months ago and just 2 weeks ago. Momma says my skin ain’t thick enough, but time after time, the knife says otherwise, because unfortunately, I’m still here.

I’m

still

here

Here we go again with these bad ass girls. They’re one in the same. They wanna fight. They wanna challenge authority. They wanna be “bad bitches.” Don’t give me that ADHD-special ed.- mental health bullshit either. If my history class was about slingin’ on the corner or where to buy the best Malaysian hair, they’d be all ears. They know how to steal from the corner store. They know how to open up their legs. Thinkin’ they know everything. Too bad they don’t know they ain’t gonna amount to not a thing. Give them what they want. If they don’t care, I don’t care.

I

don’t

care

I don’t care about nothin’ else but him. My momma don’t want me. My daddy don’t want me. He’s all I got and I’ll be damned if I let this little hot-in-the-pants freshman take him away from me. I hate that feeling when they lock eyes. I hate the way he lights up every time she walks by him. When he approaches her, it sets my soul ablaze in the worst way. Take, take, take. That’s all everyone does around here. My grandfather took my virginity. My foster father took taking my dignity a step farther that one day when he…One day. I’m gonna take from this world as much or even more than it has taken from me!

It’s not even worth it but the knife says otherwise I’m gonna take from this world it sets my soul ablaze in the worst way.

Let’s all take the time to talk to our children and other children we know. Let’s also take the time to read up on and acknowledge the effects of bullying, abuse, low self-esteem and mental illness on our youth.

What you see isn’t always what you get.

Rest in peace Amy Francis-Joyner.

Sister Girl

sister girl

sister girl

she and I

talked, laughed, cried and I

swore a thousand times that she was my

friend

sister girl

her talk

it was deep

and it was cheap

faced with 2, 3 faces

which was hers

sister girl

her jealous eyes

her critical lips

her hips resented my hips’ width

she exchanged her gifts for an infatuation with mine

sister girl

she hates me

but still I love

I love

her jealous eyes

her critical lips

her resentment

they tell me I’m doin’ good

Too

Damn

Good

Cleaning Lady

cleaning lady feet
I saw this lady
Clean the bathroom
Mop up the malice, bleach clean the bigotry and throw away the arrogance of a civilization
This United States of a nation
It’s too bad when folk act too good to clean up they own mess
I saw this lady
With the weight of the world on her shoulders
The kids at the college seem frozen in time while she grows older
and older and older
I told her “good morning” and she smiled too
It was the kind of halfway smile that don’t really believe you
I didn’t speak soon enough. Or I spoke too soon.
Then her silence told me that she just here to clean the bathroom.
Society tends to treat its hardest workers with the least respect. Silence kills the spirit. I wrote this to kill the silence. 
Love, Kiara

Black People Don’t Tip (Part 2)

no tip for you Obama

Chicagonow.com

Numbers don’t lie, but they don’t tell the whole story.

That’s how I left things off last time.

I still feel the same over a year since my first post on this “issue.”And today, an extremely rude and biased waiter learned that the number 0 doesn’t lie, either.

I went to eat at a buffet with my mother recently. The only reason we ended up at said buffet in the first place was because the Sunday after-church crowds prevented us from going to our first choice for lunch. We were starving after a lengthy church service — desperate times called for desperate measures.

We went into said buffet. We weren’t greeted but I asked the host about the price. He didn’t answer my question and led us to our table  — from his lack of understanding and his accent, I figured his English wasn’t very good and I let it go, although its an uneasy feeling eating at a restaurant and not having any idea what your bill may look like.

He took our drink orders. We both ordered water. He ended up being our “waiter.” Besides bringing the water that one time and taking our empty plates, we had virtually no service. It was surveillance that we had plenty of. The waiter kept circling around us. We saw him staring at us from other parts of the restaurant. Even when we were up at the buffet, he was right behind us, just lurking.

 Not only were we subject to surveillance, we were also forced to watch him properly serve everyone else around us. “How is everything?” and “Need another Coke?” were the questions coming out of his mouth, addressing all parties….but ours. As we, the only black people in the section and basically in the entire establishment, sat there taking it all in, we realized we were yet again being served the okie doke. The same bull I’ve dealt with at restaurants here and there my entire life.

Then it was time for the tip.

The tip I decided to leave, you ask?

0.

Some people I know tip high regardless of the service, because of the stigma and the stereotype that says black people don’t tip. They’re basically saying that even when we aren’t deemed worthy enough for adequate service, said waiter or waitress should be compensated as if he or she provided good service. To those that say that, I ask this: Why should we internalize their maltreatment? Why should we dehumanize oursevles along with all those racist waiter and waitresses out there who already dehumanize us? People who discriminate against black people in restaurants do it because they feel we don’t deserve to be treated fairly. Giving them a tip that they do not deserve justifies their actions. I don’t know about you, but I was raised to view myself just as deserving of decent treatment as the next person.

We left. As we both started to walk to the car, the waiter runs out the restaurant, following us. We were startled and a little taken back. He stopped us in the middle of the street. A walker-by in the distance stopped in his tracks to make sure we were okay. “You didn’t leave service pay! I need my service pay!” he exclaimed, directing his anger toward me. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe this classless act. To have the gumption to follow someone out of a restaurant for a tip? In a brief exchange, we told him our grievances. No refills. No service. Friendly engagement with all other tables except ours. “The nerve of you to follow us outside in the street and force us to tip you,” my mother remarked. He walked away, throwing his hands up in the air.

We were stunned.

We should have called the police. If we had men with us, it would have never happened. No more eating out. This happens a lot in this area. What a low life restaurant to condone chasing customers in the street. We should have. We could have.

These were some of the thoughts after the incident. I even thought back to when I paid for our meal. I realized I could have paid up front but he insisted on taking my money from the table. I guess he didn’t trust black money.

Out of such an unfortunate incident, I tapped into something very important: pride. Believe it or not, I was proud that I left no tip. I know they say black people never tip —  well, this was the very first time this black person didn’t tip. It was exhilarating, if I’m completely honest. It felt so good because I’ve been the type of person I called out earlier in this piece. The type to leave a tip in exchange for lousy service. This time, I stood my ground and valued myself over trying to debunk a stupid stereotype.

This whole tipping thing is a complicated schema. Its far from black and white, literally. The waiter in this instance was a non-black person of color. So were most of the patrons of the restaurant. Its impossible and extremely ignorant to think you can label an entire race or an entire culture. Also, we have to consider the plight of the waiter or waitress. We know they’ve dealt with ignorance from patrons of all colors, creeds and cultures. They may be defensive from prior experiences. And when it comes to buffet-style eating, tipping is tricky, as you do much of your own service.

Zero is a number, but does it tell the whole story?

Zero is the tip many believe all black people leave to their waiter or waitress. Zero is the quality of service we often get, simply because of how we look. Yes, this black person left zero tip, and she is prouder than ever for it. She has 0 regret. Maybe that sleazy waiter learned a thing or two from his zero service.

Why, yes, BLACK PEOPLE DON’T TIP WHEN THEY AREN’T SERVED.

I guess sometimes, numbers do tell the whole story.

Tamir

Kiara Jacobs, 8, hugs her brother Quentin Stamen, 13, at a memorial where Tamir Rice was fatally shot by Cleveland police officers who mistook the 12 year old's toy gun for a real gun.
Kiara Jacobs, 8, hugs her brother Quentin Stamen, 13, at a memorial in the Cleveland park where Tamir Rice was fatally shot by police officers who mistook the 12 year old’s toy gun for a real gun, Dec. 4, 2014. The Justice Department announced on Thursday that a two-year investigation found a pattern of unreasonable and unnecessary use of force by police in Cleveland. (Ty Wright/The New York Times)

“I’m sorry”

The first two words that come to mind

The most passive saying

For the most violent crime

I’m sorry

Folk are trying to make those words the end of his memory,

To add to the his-tory of black lives lost, similarly

But that won’t happen, so don’t think twice

He will never be forgotten

His name is Tamir Elijah Rice

“Black Lives Matter”

The catch phrase of our time

Another infamous line

Somebody’s lying

Because the more we say it, the more we’re dying

Tamir left us a matyr, a sacrificial lamb

Because we have not sacrificed enough

shame on them, shame on us

Life is so rough, life is so lethal

when even in death our people

Just don’t give a damn

“A wealthy man, one who stands tall”

Is the meaning of the name Tamir

How could it be more loud, how could it ever be more clear

The death of a child at the crooked cop’s hand

All because a 12 year old child was more of a man

It hurts

To write the words on this page

Because no matter how much pain the truth may bring

All still won’t be so phased

To take a stand and remember him

But I will

He made

The ultimate sacrifice

His name is Tamir Elijah Rice.

Livin’

livin PIC EDIT
He does whatever he wants and carelessly spreads his seeds
Tumbleweed the way he rolls around bed to bed, town to town as he please
But he don’t care, kids here kids there kids everywhere, animalistic breeding is in season
He thinks he’s on TOP, he ain’t gonna ever stop…and think to think he has no reason

Look at him, he’s the man, he got it goin on, he’s that guy with all those women runnin after him…
Givin no real value to the lives he’s bringing in…this world…and he really thinks he livin’

She is content when she gets her ends from the men
The different baby daddies that fathered her different children and
even though she’s left building up the kids’ home all alone
She picks up that phone no matter where the men roam, for the money for the school clothes…for the Air Jordans…for the Nike Foams


Her kids get to floss, she thinks she’s a boss…not giving a damn about the costs of a family spent from being bought
The men are forgiven for the wrongs done on her kids…and as long as she’s spendin’ with the little they givin’…she livin’

He sees his momma struggle and fight to keep the ship tight
but he thinks she’s supposed to do it, ain’t nothin to it, she’ll be alright
She just has herself cuz she don’t need no help
When WIC is their health and food stamps are their wealth

When the tumbleweed’s seed grows a tumbleweed tree
The cycle continues, what a sight it is to see
Oh the plight it is to be the seed falling down beneath
You can’t help but ask yourself…are you livin’ when you breathe?