Melanin Matters

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 prompted 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

My brilliance, a faint recollection
But my predilection towards depression
Will be the section of my life highlighted
Forget about all the love and affection
Shown and how I gave
Or how I tried to face everyday brave
Even though most of those days
I was scared and afraid
Because when you’re my shade
You can bet the benefit of the doubt
Will be the first thing thrown out

“Well I guess we never really knew her”
Is what they will shout
And over my grave
my guilt will be contained
In the minds of those who never knew me
But the media will lead you to see
All of the darkest parts of the deepest part of me
And before my family would even be allowed to grieve
Others who never knew will lead them to believe
“If only she had,” and really that’s sad

But thankfully this isn’t my story
I’m here to shed light for the ones
Who are already in Glory
Because someone feared them
Or didn’t like their tone of voice
So they made a fatal choice
And now instead of families rejoicing
Over graduations and happy situations
Their loved ones are a hashtag

An empty soulless shell
A burial plot holds the remains
Of the hope and joy, dreams of fame
And what could have been
But fear the color of their skin
Is what did them in
Only when it seemed their
Lives were about to begin

But tell me I’ve made this up
That this holds no truth
That my observations lack proof
That if my people would just comply
But it’s a lie
And what kind of free society
Subscribes to Comply or Die?

So yes you’ll hear me say
Black Lives Matter
The “minority” comprises the majority
No matter what you say about “All lives”
And how they matter
Day in and day out we’ve learned
Through dreams and hopes shattered
That’s not really the case

It’s just a deflecting phrase
used to derail
A necessary conversation
About evil situations
That continue to occur
And you can be sure
I will continue to fight
Until all of our plight
Finds us unified
Or I’ll die
in the process of making it right


© Aisha N. Willis 2014/2016

Begin Again

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For some of us, finding our voice isn't the problem. We're blessed with one and we know it early on. Others look to us, those who seem to have no fear, to speak on their behalf. And we do, gladly, eagerly, because it's what we do. It's as natural as breathing.

But.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction - or so I've heard. When you're young, you have to be taught to tame your tongue, to rein it in, because you can't always say everything you want when you want it. This is a delicate dance. Those in authority have to train the child without crushing their spirit. That’s difficult. Many of us push through even when crushed. Some may even speaker louder, longer, and more often.

But some - even the ones who seem to be the most fearless, lose a bit of themselves. We allow ourselves to be controlled by the reins of others, instead of learning the hoped-for self control. We have so much to say, so much to do, but fear we are wrong, fear we are unacceptable, fear we will be rejected, for using the very gift given to us.

So we sit still. Quiet. With a roar burning within. So much to say.

Occasionally, we may say something. It's well thought out, planned, researched, balanced instead of biased - but the moment the words run free so do the Tone Police, writing their citations of disagreement in the name of keeping the peace.

And so once again, we sit there - a champion who can represent a King, but sitting in silence, in the prison of caring what others think.

The most solitary of confinement. The warden, a public who wouldn't adore the most Perfect. And yet we long for their acceptance. A pat on the back, a "good job" or the like.

But.

We can't please or appease all. Some will not understand our fight, our plight, or the fire which burns within.

The sound of our voices is the sound of our freedom. If you want others to respect your rights, your freedom, it's not too much to ask for reciprocity. The space to live in dignity, free from the condemnation readily given just because we may have a differing opinion.

Now, here I am. At a crossroads and I am the only one who can adjust for my burden and carry my load. Another's opinion of my life is not a foundation I can build upon or currency I can spend. So I stand here, scared and scarred into a silence that has to end.

It's time to begin again.

Yes I said 'some' and 'us' and 'we' but that's only because sometimes it's hard to say 'me'.

Yes, this is my fight. This isn't where my story ends. This is a rebirth.

It's time to begin again.

I am greater than my faults and failing has never done me in. I'm standing for my freedom.

It's time to begin again.

I swam in the seas of doubt, and drowned in lies rehearsed with no end. But I refuse to stay under.

It's time to begin again.

I've been blamed for centuries of someone else's sin. But I was reborn as an innocent.

It's time to begin again.

I'm willing to fail forward, and work even smarter to finally win. Today, the lies found their end.

It is time to begin again.

The battle is on every side, so I choose discipline.

The greatness of humble meekness is what I wrap myself in.

That doesn’t make me a pushover, my learning isn’t thin.

I'm getting my mind right. I know that I will win.


Death, just lost its hold on me.

It's time to begin again.

Memory of a Kiss

Red Lips Isolated in White, Creative Commons

I’m still haunted by the memory of your lips
Our last gentle kiss
When the heat radiated from your eyes
And emanated from your fingertips
Which danced along my arms
While across my heart, so did your charms

Those deep brown eyes pulled me in
And I was tempted by you, like you were a sin
Waiting all day just to hear your voice
To experience your stories, I made a choice
I believed for a moment, all too brief
In the reality of a you and me

You, of course, turned out to be a thief
My heart carried in your capable hands
And just like an elegant and eloquent rogue
You talked me out of my affections
And for all of my walls and impenetrable protections
I still surrendered willingly to your directions

And then it was too late
At this point, I sealed my unfortunate fate
I dared step into your arms for a dance
Lulled by your hypnotic rhythm, your advance
Intimately connected by a shy glance
In the grip of your wiles, I never had a chance
Now, my soul bears scars with your resemblance

And now here I am alone, no sleep
The evidence of your presence kept in the deep
Shadowy parts of my heart and mind
Those places time doesn’t shine
And darkness doesn’t pass
To your memory, I raise this glass
Which holds the imprint of my lips
And so do you
Your body and your soul still hold my kiss


(c) 2016 Aisha Nichole Willis

We Asked for Better, You Gave Us Bitter

I hoped for better in my lifetime than a regression to the "days of yore." But really, that time is not what most romanticize it for, it's a dangerous, dark and deadly door.

Now, here we are, in the future with a penchant for a past that doesn't exist, except in the minds of creative and deceptive revisionists.

The same who want to tell me that a protest isn't right, that that is not how Americans fight. I'm sorry, I'm sure I didn't hear you right.

This America, founded as the home of the free and land of the brave, made up of people running who, we’re told, didn’t want to be religious slaves. The ones who decided the rule and dare I say, oppression, of a king wasn't really their thing.

This America, taken from the hands of those who owned the lands through deceit and forced migrations, and stipulations that the indigenous are still paying for. You won’t even look at the receipt. Reservations set at a table at which no one should have to eat. The sky was the border until you brought disorder, and now they die bound on set lands.

Heritage and pride, ancestry and thriving lives, in your eyes, reduced to mascots.

This America, where we fight for a corporate logo instead of the people it purports to represent. How terribly indecent, how far our descent into insensitivity. And yet you say to just get over it.

This America, built on the backs of the blacks, forced from homes and brought here through abhorrent means. The families and lives destroyed, the pain of their humanity, traded as they were demeaned to be property.

Demons. Sexually immoral. Lazy. In need of a leader. Too feeble. Weak. ⅗ of a man. Childlike. Unable to speak up for themselves. To be coddled because they are ignorant. And still we pay the bill for these thoughts.

Like the native peoples, referred to as savages. Yet those who did these terrible things flipped through passages of a Bible that says "whosoever will" will be free indeed. Using the name of Jesus to enact the most horrible deeds.

This America, where a messaging strategy brought a thing created called Manifest Destiny, that is revered as the will of God. But it was an excuse used to confuse, to lay claim to what wasn’t yours- and as we still love to do, we came in kicking down doors, taking what’s not ours.

And now, you’re sour. Your greatest fear is that another group will come here and do what you did. You close your borders to those just like you and become hoarders of this so-called liberty that was once extended, but now is to be defended through hatred.

This America, where the poor are the problem. Where we laugh at the uneducated as we take their books and close their schools. We point at them on TV and refer to them as fools. We claim to be pro-life but let families starve with no regard for their hardship. We regale stories of grandads working hard, forgetting the subsidies that helped them to charge forward.

Programs of government were OK back in the day when the benefit went only to you. But now we talk about “hand outs” and “free stuff” as if no one has the guts to put in a full day’s work. You say, “If only the poor weren’t so lazy,” yet that’s obviously crazy when they’re balancing a job or two, and still can’t do what’s basic.

“Get an education!” But it’s hard to get one when charters are the new destination for segregation keeping the “separate but equal” lie alive. Here take this loan but don’t bemoan the 200% interest at which you must pay it back. And here they are, the educated and poor, living in lack.

Or what of those who work trades? Whose work was sent away, in the name of corporate greed, but we like to call by it’s acceptable name, profitability. We blame technology for the end of skilled labor but don’t talk about overseas sweatshops filled with penny-a-day wagers.

We blame the poor, on whom we shut the door and give low ceilings and slap them in the face when they come appealing for more. We take their chances for greatness in the name of morality and tell them to bootstrap their reality and that it will all be OK.

This America, where we like abstractions of the truth and distractions from the proof our own guilt. This truly wonderful place built with slave labor, poor families, immigrants and the indigenous so that our own tycoons could get rich. Then even richer and sell us a picture of what could be, if it weren’t for the “other guy” standing next to me; creating a dichotomy of us versus them, where we fight, only for the ones with no skin in, to win.

This America, where coded language is used to assuage guilt and incite hate. Turning brother against brother, each of us against one another, but we’re to believe in the beneficence of an oppressor, that has been the distressor since our story began.

Blame me, tell me I’m the problem. Yet I was born to solve them, to dismantle systems of destruction. Tell me, I’m the one who’s sedated, lulled to sleep by the lies of the “liberal media.” Who is always to blame when they shine light on the games you play. The check to your unbalance, only true when they agree with you. But the same media, guilty of being your tool to spread lies that defy the humanity of the “minority.”

And now, you’ll say I’m un-American and shame me for reading through history and revealing the artistry of your well-crafted lies. You tell me to, “Shut up!” because you despise the tune of my song. You say that I’m complaining, but, in truth, I love my home. Tears at “Oh say can you see?” But for me, I can see. I know my freedom isn’t free. Far too many paid a hefty price for me. No, not ungrateful; tired. Too much blood watering seeds sown in the hopes of a better future.

Better. My grandmother worked hard for better. My mother integrated schools for better. My sister and I live to bring better. Yet today, you’ve shown me that in this America, swallowing a bitter pill of recognition and repentance is not an option.

You're bitter that the “old ways” aren’t good enough. Bitter, that you cannot say and do what generations taught you was cool. Bitter because things got better for more than just you.

You're bitter that you’re not better than all the rest. Bitter that your lies must be laid to rest. Bitter that we won’t rest until better has come through. Better will be better for you, too.

Now come on, we’ve all got work to do.

For a while it may be bittersweet, but the fight will only be complete when you dismantle the inferior systems of supremacy. Or you can choose to stay bitter. But that’s not the route for me. I am moving on to better, because I refuse to accept defeat.

© 2016 Aisha Nichole Willis

Control

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Mankind has a control problem. Man wants to be in control all of the time. Although man once controlled it all, we fell. We only had one rule to obey but we didn't, and though we maintain dominion it's not quite the same.

Now here we stand confusing said dominion with domination, influence with manipulation, and conversion with control. In our quest for control we are even foolish enough to attempt to control God. We put Him in a pretty box with a bow and serve Him up with an understanding called religion.

For 400 years from Malachi until John the Baptist religion continued to perform and increase in form and feature instead of wisdom and stature. The Spirit was not attending as He had previously yet business continued as usual. Religion.

How many suffered at the hands of the religious leaders? How many could not reach mythical plateaus of perfection attempting to not only follow Levitical Law but the additional laws of Judaism? All packaged with a bow called Yahew, yet He Himself was not wrapped within?

And then, in due time, a Son came. He was the greatest King, yet He had humble beginnings. His legitimacy questioned from birth. His mission difficult, yet fulfilled masterfully. His followers selected, taught, loved, empowered, and finally after He had perfectly prepared them, sent. The prophecies were fulfilled, the message was simple. Yet man still has his need to control.

And so along the way the love and grace, mercy and kindness of God were cast aside for an angrier, more selective version. This distorted view of a dictatorial ruler who longs to destroy became the narrative to control the population. Religion was used as a tool to cause pain, to start wars, to impose great economic inequality, and sadly to oppress the very people that were meant to be set free.

This desire to control others has led to some of the greatest atrocities of history. And yet somehow, there were always those who knew He was more. They chose to believe and lived in such a way that the Light lived through them. They were willing to give up their desire for control and were instead controlled by the greatest Love ever known.

Today we still desire control. But what will our response be? Will we continue to use religion as a tool to manipulate and dominate or will we finally come home to compassion, empathy, and love? Will we go beyond in our thinking about Who our God really is and what His character is filled with?

Will we continue to make excuses for our god of Religion, or will we exercise the faith it takes to walk in love as our true God has called us?

Will we repent for the years of oppression and dissension caused in "the name of Jesus" or will we continue to look away turning a blind eye to the pain? Are we brave enough to reconcile so that a new outpouring of grace can be revived? After all we keep praying for revival, but keep living as though our pride's survival is of utmost importance.

Are we willing to relinquish control and finally obey? Who knows, maybe that's the recipe for us to all participate in the greatest love story ever told.