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It has NEVER
Been a
Black versus white thing
Civilized versus uncivilized thing
Developed versus underdeveloped thing

It has ALWAYS
Been a
RICH versus poor thing

The colors may change
But the reasoning
Stays the same

When
Will it
Become a WE
Are all Human Thing?

- Sylvia Speaks

June 6, 2010

 

Taken at Fort Keta, Ghana

I
Am
Killing
Myself

Gnawing
At my insides
Every attack
Against my self confidence
Serves as a mental blow against my foe

Every allowance of disrespect
In exchange for a little attention
Plots my assassination

War wounds of self mutilation
Trying fit into bad situations
Saying yes
When the answer should be no
My own enemy trained to kill
Self love, peace be still 

- Sylvia Speaks 

June 28, 2010

I’ve been doing too much waiting
And not enough living
I’ve been doing a lot of wishing
With a tad too many visions
Of what life should be
Of what I should be accomplishing
Always feeling as though
There’s something missing.

I’ve been watching too many movies
Living vicariously through too many romantic comedies
With too many imagined lovers.

I’m still waiting for my cameras to roll…

Placing my life on hold.

- Sylvia Speaks

June 28, 2010

I want you to see me:

All of me
The me that is not here for your pleasure
The me that does not want “it” but wants a man
To treat her like a long lost treasure
The me that has a voice
And has a purpose on this Earth
Beyond giving life to all whose birthed,

With a love rooted in Jesus
And a shortcoming of giving too much
If God gets taken for granted
Then we’re like distant cousins.

I am not a sex object
She does not equate with it
I am Godly made, crafted
Perfectly with imperfection
I am a person to be respected
A daughter of He
Who was resurrected,

So when you look at me
I want you to see me
The she of powerful spirit and mind,
Strengthened by God to be
Moving you forward
But certainly not be placed behind
A woman full of strength
And substance to be prized. 

- Sylvia Speaks

Nov 10, 2010

With the stroke of a brush,

Push of a button,

Leap through the haze,

We arouse our Fantasia:

The person whom we’ve always wanted to be—

Sexy, independent, striking, self-assured,

Captivating,

Transcending realities.

The tastes we’ve longed to savor,

Touch to remind us we’re alive,

Stilettos to keep us mindful

Of the time that make our money

Worth spending and lives

Worth working for.

Fantasia:

It is the high of our lives.

The movement of our time.

The gift that satisfies.

That’s what we tell ourselves at least…

I love my natural hair

(I get self conscious because my hair doesn’t satisfy beauty standards)

I love to dance

(sometimes I consciously try not to move my hips to not dance too “black”)

I pride myself on the fact that if I were born in a previous generation I would’ve been involved in civil rights activism

(Now that I’ve learned about capitalism and race I’ve lost faith in social movements, and question the effectiveness of asking the wealthy for handouts.)

I love love love to eat

(And cook because it allows me to calorie count easily)

I value friends as members of my extended family

(but after feeling deserted by a friend my freshman year I have moments where I feel self conscious that all my college friends will leave me)

I question whether people genuinely care about me or are using me

(but this behavior has pushed people away and hindered my happiness)

I’ve always thought I was beautiful

(but that was under the clause of my not having acne)

I have really come to appreciate the moments I can spend with my self relaxing,

(These moments are usually spent on Facebook or noise/TV filled to keep me from recalling personal episodes of pain or disappointment)

 

I sometimes feel negative energy inside me and don’t why I don’t feel happy,

Contentment is a feeling I’ve been struggling with,

I try to live by the Golden Rule, but think I sometimes give too much to others at the expense of my self,

I am an undercover overlover,

I became very self-conscious about my GPA and race during job recruitment season,

I fantasize too much about future possibilities,

I have to constantly remind myself to live in the present,

 

I am a contradiction.

I am uncomfortable

Uncomfortable because when you see me

You see a Body

With a vagina—

Better yet an it—

No wait,

Some pussy.

 

I am uncomfortable

Uncomfortable because as you undress me with your eyes, lick your lips and fantasize

I imagine you

As a dog and me

Your favorite chew toy—

You gnaw me from the outside in

Until I’m torn apart yet trapped in my own skin.

 

I am uncomfortable

Uncomfortable that because of the color of my skin

You only see me as a hook up

A box checked on your list of sexual fantasies

Demeaned to an object, rather than a woman worthy

of some commitment.

 

I am uncomfortable

Uncomfortable that because of our shallow relationship

You absolve yourself of your prejudices

When you joke about being so tan you could be black!

Or throw in some slang when you talk to me (awkwardly might I add).

 

I am uncomfortable

Uncomfortable to the point of embarrassment

That when you see me, white friend of my white friend, you either

a) Give me a look of surprise—Me, worthy of a white person’s friendship?

Or b) Look right through me

…You see even though we’re getting the same degrees

I still look like the help

Which makes me approximately 3/5ths of a human being.

 

I am uncomfortable

So uncomfortable that it’s tiring

Ever since I’ve stopped straightening my hair

My Mother shakes her head and asks

“What are we going to do with that hair?” or “You should try to make your hair more curly” OR my personal favorite “You’re going out like that?”

You see my hair makes her uncomfortable

How are the white people supposed to feel comfortable with my blackness and believe

In my intelligence if I was crazy enough

Not to want my hair to mimic theirs?

 

I am uncomfortable

Uncomfortable because I have a 7 year old brother

Who at the age of 5 has been asking our mother

Why our skin isn’t “peach”

You see he has yet to learn what it means to be white, 

But he’s being taught that something about our skin color surely ain’t right

He doesn’t see himself in our textbooks, TV shows, movies…not even cartoons

And if people who look like him are with the “peach” people, they’re sidelined

To the supporting roles.

 

The thing about discomfort

Is that it starts young

Distorting our psyche

And what’s worse our self-love.

 

So to everyone hearing me right now,

I know you’ve been uncomfortable too

Uncomfortable that we all—

Young

Old

Black 

Peach

White

—Have been sold

Into an unjust society

That cashes in on what makes us most human,

LOVE.

Our ability to find comfort within ourselves,

So delicately tied to our LOVE

LOVE of others

and LOVE of self

Is being conditioned to need Things

Things like

make up,

tablets,

designer clothes,

hair straighteners,

skin lighteners,

country club memberships,

big houses,

slaves,

Things with a price tag,

Are keeping us from 

LOVING completely.