**FEATURED ARTIST** Kearah Armonie

Dear Erykah

If you were to ask me my religion a year ago I would say baduizm. I’ve seen you live, twice. Both free, both restoring my faith. When you sang pack light I knew you were singing to me.

When you stated via twitter that girls should wear knee length skirts to school to avoid arousing their male teachers I knew you were talking to me.

 

Ripped booty shorts, choker wearing, crop-top rockin’ kind of girl whose demise will only be my own fault, who should know better than to slip up between the teeth of a hungry man, to walk not with fear of the attack but knowing I am to be attacked,

      preyed upon,

      hunted,

      gazelle in a lions den.

Every man be lion and every street be their turf.

 

That must be what you were saying,

 

That my body is not my own.
That your body is not your own.
That your body of music is not mine either.

 

Do you know of how many little bag ladies you have created now?

The weight so heavy of knowing your body is a police state you cannot flea?

Feeling refugee in your own home? Victim blamed by your own momma?

 

When you said it is in a man’s nature to lust after, prey upon, be attracted to, or sexually assault young girls once they reach puberty; This is not the first time I’ve questioned God…

 

but I haven’t listened to your music ever since.


Tankas for A Seat at the Table

I’m gonna look for

My body now she said and

Then I came to learn

My body was missing too

What I claim may not be mine

 

I guess to be Black

Is to lose your own body

Though it be stolen

and go look for it your damn

Self. I’ll be back, like real soon

 

I tell white not to

Say the word nigga, they say

It anway. This

Is an act of violence, but

When has white not been violent

 

I wake this morning

Feeling shattered, robbed and stolen

Yet, still I say

Daily affirmation: Don’t

Let anyone steal this magic

 

A white boy touched my

hair, I felt myself start to

fade, to dwindle a-

way. Less than, less than, sand in

The wind. Yet, I am still here

 

If celebrating

me seems to mean I am dis-

respecting you, then

so be it. Sit in the heat

of your anger while I shine


Love of My Life

I bump The Sun’s Tirade and wonder if every bitch and every hoe is me.

 

KanYe West called his own wife a bitch and I guess that’s cool now.

Knowing I could still get wifed.  Most inanimate objects get bought.

I can go from toy to trophy.

 

Me and my good homegirl skip this line in one of our favorite songs,

We gon’ play with the mind and run a game on her

And take shawty to the crib, put the pain on her.

Singing along would just make me feel dizzy, incoherent,

make me feel like no one will believe me.

 

The hottest rap song to come out of Brooklyn this summer was sung by a girl.

Not only a girl but a lesbian,

         Dike

         Butch

         AG/whatever.

Tatted up, keep the hammer right next to her, probably rock your shit for calling her by the wrong nickname.

Not seen for how she deviates from this mainstream she riding now but used as scapegoat to carry misogyny on her back, just cuz they can’t lay her on her back?

As if the only room for a woman in hip-hop is if she objectifies herself?

Male interviewers question exactly what she means about a shorty giving her head then criticize her for treating women as if we are only here for sex,

and I am not too sure how the misogynist is here.

 

As if your fave ain’t been on that, as if your president’s fave aint been on that.

This is number 1 on everyone’s top 10.

 

But it’s okay because I love this shit

Because my father rep the bronx and I love that shit

Because hip-hop as my boyfriend is BDSM and I love that shit

Because before I had voice, I had this and I love this shit

 

and I have learned, being the Black Woman in the room often means

loving something that will never love you back.


KearahArmonie(Kearmonie) is a poet, spoken word artist, MC, Filmmaker, Blogger, and Writer from Brooklyn, NY. She recently completed her B.A. in Documentary Film Production at Brooklyn College, where she hosted and facilitated events as a three-time Brooklyn College Slam Team member, and their 2016 Grand Slam Champion. The team went on to rank 12th in the nation at the College Union’s Poetry Slam Invitational(CUPSI) 2016. Having been performing spoken word since 2011 she is now a mentor and teaching artist, continuing to perform all over NYC. Her most recent documentary short, “BLK GRL POET” a spoken word driven chronicle of the Black Lives Matter protests in NYC, has been featured in the Women of African Descent Film Festival and The 34th Annual Brooklyn College Film Festival.

Music – Essay

The Music section of Wusgood is to discuss all things musical, or life through a musical perspective


A Not-Review of an Album that Shouldn’t Be

By Amber Flame

Black Twitter has proven that the average Black person has access to a semi-professional recording studio, given the alacrity with which they respond with shade in song to any circumstance calling for it. And I, for one, am here for it. Do it. So when the girl I’m fucking tells me we need to hold off on kicking it because she was working on her album, I was 100% supportive. There wasn’t much we had in common besides music, particularly Prince, but we had fun fucking in cars and talking about concerts. I respected her focus on her art and listened supportively to her ideas.
Weekends passed, no booty. But I was going through my own shit and when I did see her, I was impressed to hear she was doing it all herself – the instrumentation and beats, recording and mixing, and all the vocals. I was… a little confused when she bragged about no hooks, saying, “I just say what I want to say, and that’s it.” But you know, I respected her giving up pussy for her art. Can’t say I’d have it in me.
And then the album dropped.
Look y’all. I know this is a music page. For reviews n’ shit. This is where I give you a couple of sentences about the hottest tracks, the ones that have potential. But this album was trash. 22 minutes I am never gonna get back. Each track, I had that squint of Black women everywhere when they trying to listen through something they already know is garbage. The face of patience ill spent:
And I wanted to make this a positive come-up for a local artist, an opportunity for people who would never heard of ________. I listened to the whole thing with the intention of finding the good. There are some good beats, some potential in working with people who… know how to write songs. But if you ignore the monotonous drone of semi-rap talk, if you don’t anticipate a hook to pull it all together – look, if you always wanted to know what someone thinks about with two blunts and a microphone, look her up. Or as she said:
If you lookin for a friend to eat dinner with/ Call me/ If you lookin for somebody to stunt on your ex on/ Call me/ If you lookin for a good time outside, girl, go on and just/ Call me/ I’m down for the night, but if you lookin for a main thing/ Don’t… call me
“Call me… Maybe” by Nerdoc
Fam, I ain’t been able to bring myself to call her since. That shit should have been fire. My pussy is offended, and I’m not going to be able to bring myself to fuck her ever again.
 An award-winning writer and performer, Amber Flame is also a singer for multiple musical projects. Flame’s original work has been published and recorded in many diverse arenas, including Def Jam Poetry, Winter Tangerine, The Dialogist, Split This Rock, Jack Straw, Black Heart Magazine, Sundress Publications, and Redivider, with her first full-length book, Ordinary Cruelty, to be published in spring of 2017. Flame works as The Hand for TWiB Media, LLC, is the slam master for the Oakland Slam and performs regularly on musical, burlesque and literary stages. Amber Flame is one magic trick away from growing her unicorn horn

kiki nicole | On Gender

I.

name a ghost.
call it Girl.
name a body
or,
name a weapon.
say pussy.

say it to her face.

now apologize for misgendering my pussy.

the moon & my pussy use they/them pronouns.

or u can call us bitch.
or u can call us nigga, i guess.
(the moon is black too)
the moon & i smile,
see, we smart.
we know most of u can’t call us that—
we on some trick shit,
wear lipstick
& orbit on beats 2 & 4

name a body.
call it a knife
say Girl,
right?

i call myself a boi & no one understands. i admit
i don’t quite follow my own damn self.
still i Fire
soft & sharp toothed boi.
i take Happy
& wear it around my waist.
i woo myself

i sing my pussy to anyone who will listen
but it sings back Blk

my blk body makes a home of my mouth.
we blk hole sun.
to have a body & not be able to pass
for anything other than blk & woman-
ish

you runnin yet?
don’t worry. It’s fine.
most people do.
it’s nothing we ain’t used to.

i ghost while still inside this body.

II.

In which my blk body goes blue//becomes something other than a body or
becomes Woman//
again//becomes recognizable & Easy to Understand
in which without a body                      I become a person