be me

You want me to sit

To be quiet and forget
To forgive with no end
To believe you're a friend
To surrender to your comfort
To stop being me
Laws may have changed
But in your mind I'm not free
And if I change to conform
Then I'm no longer me
So I'll ask you to change
To stop thinking me strange
To exist and be free
To not worry about me
And here I'll stand
I'll be all that I can
I'll make no demands
But today you will see
I'm so proud to be me

(c) Aisha Nichole Willis 2014

This originally posted to my Facebook

Wouldn't He?

President Lyndon B. Johnson and
the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Dr. King wouldn't do that.

I keep seeing this as some sort of pseudo-justification for why people should stop protesting. Somehow there is a belief that commerce would not be disrupted if protests were truly peaceful. And that these protests are solely the product of recent events. Those events were the proverbial straw.

Here's something to consider:

1. A boycott of a transportation system by any section of the population would do quite a bit to disrupt commerce. Reference the 1950s and 60s bus boycotts- seriously look it up.
2. Protest by definition is a disruption to some action- at a minimum it comes from words meaning to make a solemn declaration, to assert publicly, from a root word meaning witness.
3. It amazes me that in the sanitized version of history we receive that somehow we've forgotten that the Rev. Dr. King was so hated by his contemporaries for what he was peacefully leading that the opposition shot his face off. I am not condoning violence by pointing this out, I just want to make sure we remember he did not live to a ripe old age and die peacefully.

I truly hope that all the protests will finally lead to much meaningful dialogue. This is not just a black & white issue.

This is a great opportunity for those who profess faith to finally make our day of worship the LEAST segregated time of the week instead of the most. If the Church will deal with what's going on in its own walls- we can and will lead the charge.

And I don't mean grab a talking head who wants to throw out distractions. I'm not missing all those other issues either.

Let's not miss the opportunity to finally break a cycle of fear and hatred plaguing all communities involved because we don't want to call it what it is. We all have skin in this game- let's do something great to ensure that 25 years from now our kids and grandkids aren't having to fight the same battle.

Prayer is a minimum. Listening, talking, dealing with lies and deception and healing will take time but it's so worth it.

Do I Matter?

This is the beginning of something- I do not think this is complete but it may be. Writing is how I process. Change is here, change is now. May God be with those who have suffered loss. May He continue to be patient as we are slow to learn.

The working title for this is I Matter

Everyday I feel I’m put on trial for existing
In this melanin-tinted skin I’m in

I never know when it could be the end
Because of the suspicion from years of traditions
That promoted fear when you saw my kin
Yes indeed, I’m about to go in

And though I’m known to be brilliant and witty,
and even on occasion, sometimes pretty
If I make a “wrong” move at an opportune time
What will be the narrative of my life?

Nothing of the truth will be what you find
Because posthumously will I be tried
With little evidence for every crime
And the story will state I was the one who defied

© Aisha N. Willis 2014

You: Judge

pixbay.com

Keep talking.
Keep speaking things that you want to believe are not hate.
Sadly you can't see.
Yet you think yourself enlightened.
You are not the only educated one.
You are not the only one with resources.
You are not the only one God loves.
The burden you carry will only become heavier when you realize it's the weight of judgment you've passed on others.
Your scales are not just.
Your love is conditional.
Your understanding limited.
Your compassion reserved.
I see you.
I hear you.
I know you.
Your incongruity lost on you.
I don't say much.
But I see the grace you withhold.
And as much as it hurts.
I'll remain silent.
Watching.
Praying.
Hoping.
That your love is restored.
May LOVE find you and Honor guide you.

(Originally posted to my Facebook on this date, added here Oct. 29, 2015)

that day

I was 24 and I lived with my mother and grandmother. I was asleep. Mom called me, more like shouted for me to come into her room. Even in that haze, I knew something was wrong. I stumbled in and adjusted my eyes just in time to see the 2nd plane strike.

To say I couldn't believe it is more than understatement. But the nightmare I viewed was very real.

I worked as the frame shop manager at Hobby Lobby. On the bus, it was the consuming conversation. At work, we were all huddled around radios in every department. Customers as well. No one complained.

The stories poured in. We sold out of American flags and prints, posters of the World Trade Center, small packs of Kleenex and anything that said God Bless America. It was the longest day ever.

Shock. Inexplicable pain and sorrow. Numbness. Fear. Hope. Anger.

What happened? Was this how they felt during the attack on Pearl Harbor?

Why?

All those people. Gone. Their families forever changed. What did this mean?

All the neighborhoods that came together. Candlelight vigils.

The sound of a silent sky.

The tiredness and sadness and the fight to hold back tears and anger in the eyes of President Bush. 

What were we going to do?

Never thought I'd see this. Never thought I'd experience this. 

Never will I forget.