March 5, 2010
In the words of Gwendolyn Brooks;
Live not for the battles won….
We’ve gone from mammies to Secretary of State;
from mommies to Supreme Court Justice; true shades of beauty.
Love hard, and fight strong.
My momma always said, “Be what you want to be Girl,
do what you got to do and always, always be true to you!”
She never told me that sometimes I would have to cook, beans and rice!
Surrendering my soul ain’t sweet when there ain’t no meat to eat.
Can’t bring home the bacon when my rent’s sky high. Economic injustice!
Can I get two for five? I’m tired of these part-time dreams and political schemes.
Don’t want the crumbs from your table! I just want to be able to, LIVE MY LIFE!
Lord, ease these pains because these tears fall, fall like rain.
Aphrodisiac and cognac numb the pain when fist cut my lips like knives.
I feel; I feel sub-jec-ted by this insidious beast and his soft spoken lies.
Fire are your words and they quench my soul.
But I’m still fighting, combat boots by day and high heels by night.
No one knows the strife when you are: born Black, born Brown, born Girl.
With no definition of beauty, innocence is lost. But at what cost?
Now her belly’s big and nothing remains the same. As she speaks to her man, locked away in chains. Unsuspecting heart, see inside her soul, as she cleans the grease from the stove.
Beans and rice! The children are hungry!
Just want to be free, free from economic injustice and poverty; don’t want no sympathy.
Like Moses at the parting of the Red Sea, Dear Lord, set the captives free.
There’s a fire in the streets, bullets spray like rain, and her three year old baby ain’t the same; as he was, yesterday. “Momma why Daddy in so much pain?” and she’s left to explain. See; see inside her soul as she cleans the grease from the stove.
Been cleaning all day, and she’s so tired. Still got to go home and cook some
beans and rice. Working for minimum wage standing on her feet all day her baby’s daddy locked away. Can’t go home been here too long. A stranger in a foreign land with no money in her hand living in the land of the free; home of the brave, marching on a Saturday come Friday she might not get pay. See; see inside her soul as she cleans, cleans the grease from the stove.
Educate me, so that I can be free. Free to make me some money!
Educate me, so that I can be free. Free from subjection and tyranny!
Yeah I got the right to vote, but you look at me like I’m a joke.
Because I’m born Black, born Brown, born Girl, ain’t easy to be what you want to be in a
Man’s World. I just want you to see; see inside my soul as I clean the grease from my stove.
Written by Alicia D. Harris, firstname.lastname@example.org