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.

---

 

Kearah–Armonie(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.