Monthly Archives: April 2013

The Black Box

Posted by Cleo on

 

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The Black Box

There is this black box.

It’s huge with all sorts of stuff in it.

Every corner of it is stuffed.

There is no more space in it.

There is no air to breath or no room to move.

Inside of this black box, it is loud.

Loud voices that sound strange and full of made up words that don’t make sense.

Loud music with bad words, sex, drugs, violence, and hate set to the beat of a drum.

Loud men, with louder women, with the loudest children…

Inside of this black box, it is ghetto.

Dirty streets lined with litter and people with nothing to do.

Fatherless teenagers pushing strollers full of fatherless babies.

Jobless, angry men who steal, kill, sell, and abuse drugs.

Ugly, angry women who sell their bodies for shiny trinkets.

Inside of this black box, it is ignorant.

Uneducated children going to a school every day to learn nothing.

Uneducated children sitting in front of teachers who teach nothing.

No books to read or dusty, brand new books that no one reads.

No wrinkled high school graduation gowns in the back of the closet.

No outdated college text cluttering the bookcase.

There is this black box.

I don’t fit in it, but you keep bending my legs and arms trying to stuff me in anyways.

Fuck you and your damn box.

He Hates Me

Posted by Cleo on

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He Hates Me Because I’m Black

No one wants to be on the losing team.

Everyone wants to be associated with the beautiful, the wanted, the desired…

When he looks at me, he is disguised, embarrassed, and disconnected…

He hates my black, curly hair because it’s not long, smooth, and flowing.

He hates my dark, chocolate skin because it’s not pale or peachy.

He hates my voice, my body, and everything I stand for because it reminds him too much of blackness.

He doesn’t want to see my hurts because they remind him of his hurts.

He doesn’t want to see my pain because they remind him of his pain.

He doesn’t want to see my truths because they remind him of his lies.

He doesn’t want to see because he looks like me.

He hates me because I am black, but so is he.

Nigger Bitch

Posted by Cleo on

images (3)White Man Uses Racial Slurs On Black Wife In Bed | Celebrity News & Style for Black Women.

http://hellobeautiful.com/2633912/black-woman-white-husband-racial-slurs-essence/

When I read this article, it really hit home for me.  I think it is why I haven’t dated outside of my race since this happened to me.  I guess I am afraid it will happen again.

I met this guy who lived close to me on Yahoo! Messenger.  We talked quite a while.  I felt comfortable and familiar with him.  He was nice.  He talked a lot about his niece and his brother.  They lived together and he and his brother owned a business together.  I was about 25 at the time.  We just talked.  We never talked about us being a different race at all beside the first day we met when he asked me had I ever dated a white guy before.  Before I told him that I had, he seemed nervous and jumpy like he was afraid someone was hiding in my house ready to jump out and rob him.

I ended up really liking him.  He got extra points because he got along with my cat.  When we ended up in the bedroom, we were both very comfortable with each other.  He asked me lots of questions about what I liked and didn’t like.  I thought it was sweet.  He asked me could he talk dirty to me when we were in the act.  I mumbled yeah.  He began to say all kinds of things but I wasn’t really paying attention to it.  Right before he was about to release, he put his mouth right up to my ear and asked, “Can I call you a “nigger bitch” while I cum?”  I froze and yelled no pushing him off me, off the bed.  His whole face was red.  He quickly put on his clothes.  I had my phone in my hand.  He was afraid I was calling someone.  He ran out of the door.  I cried so hard that I fell to sleep.  I never felt that low in my life.

I’m not saying that all guys would do this, but I have this fear now that my skin color will be exoticized.  That some man will want me just because he wants the “black woman experience”.  That I will be a number on some guy’s bucket list.  Afraid that I will fall in love with a man and he will do to me what this woman’s husband is doing to her.  I don’t think my heart could handle that.

Girlfriend vs. Whore

Posted by Cleo on

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Men are great, but not really.  I don’t understand them.  They don’t understand us.  All of our feelings are mutual.  We have these stupid roles we have to play in life, but nobody has a script.  This unspoken list of rules and taboos, I guess.  Men can do what ever they want.  It’s not fair!

Men can do things that women can’t.  Things that if a woman did, it would change her value.  Relationships are especially vulnerable to this.  It’s the difference between being the whore and the girlfriend.  For instance, a man would give a whore a cum shot to the face, but it would be disrespectful if he did it to his girlfriend.  If girlfriend during sex asked boyfriend to give her a cum shot to the face, he would have all kinds of wtf feelings.  He will get intimidated by her sexuality, wtf feelings would have him wondering did he make a whore his girlfriend. “Whoretivity” is off limits for girlfriends.  He wants her to be good in bed, but not too good.  Good at head, but not a “dickspert”.  It’s confusing.  But if you are bad at sex, its just as awful.

In this instance, women wish men were more like them.  We don’t want good in bed, we want great.  We don’t ask questions about where you learned how to do this or that.  We don’t care!!! We are just glad you know!  We will even try to improve on what you are already doing.  We don’t wonder if you ran through the girls basketball team in high school.  We brag to our friends!   Sometimes we don’t have to say a word.  Just show up to work smiling and they know you just got your back cracked.

Men and women talk about bad sex, however.  Men talk just as much as women.  I remember overhearing a guy one of my friends used to date tell someone that she gave dry head.  He was still dating her!  I couldn’t believe he told someone that.  A woman would never admit to people that the man she sleeps with every night was horrible in bed unless the relationship was on the rocks.  My ex lived with me seven months.  I can attest to this.  Even the chick he cheated on me with said the sex was bad.

In fact, almost every time I heard about bad sex it was either a one night stand or a relationship on the rocks.  However, I can not count the amount of times when guys have talked to me about someone who was lose, dry, wore out, a dead fish, smelly….  I have heard it all.  Only men can do that.  Men will say, “Wow girl! That was so good.  The last chick I was with didn’t have any walls.”  Now imagine if a woman said after sex, “Wow, that was good!  The last guy I was with came too fast!”  He would have mad wtf feelings.

So in the meantime, women will have to moderate their sexual prowess if they want to be the girlfriend and not the whore or accused of “whoretivity”.  We will continue to babysit the male ego for what it is worth.  Some men may beg to differ, but I know better…

Mother Whore

Posted by Cleo on

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Men who are extremely critical of women are either sexually confused or their mothers were whores.  I believe this wholeheartedly.  They think all women are whores.  They treat them like shit and even the nicest, most pleasant woman is a sneaky bitch waiting to be exposed.  Her hair is not right, she can’t dress, she’s too tall, her perfume is too strong, she talks too much, her vagina doesn’t smell like strawberry jolly ranchers….  No woman is ever good enough for this man.

They look up to or reference beautiful and unobtainable women, mostly celebrities.  They say things like Beyonce is the perfect woman for them or they won’t get married until they meet a woman like Angelina Jolie.  They use phrases like “all women” liberally and they mean it.  They look down on any woman who has any characteristics of their mother, even skin color.  They degrade the woman of their own race with stereotypes and the traits of their whorish mother, because surely, his mother is not a whore of her own volition.  “It is her skin color’s fault so I will never date a woman who looks like her”, is what he thinks.  Every example of sexual deviancy by a woman is evidence that not just his mother was a whore, but every woman or every woman who looks like her is too.

Sometimes he dates women of another race and teach her to hate the woman of his race by comparing the two based on his twisted thoughts.  Of course it takes a pretty dimwitted woman to go along with someone who hates their own, but he thinks all woman are idiots anyway.  You can spot these men a mile away.  They are usually single with a long string of used women trailing behind them, or they have an idiot on their arm.

Politically Incorrect

Posted by Cleo on

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I’m racist.  I have racist thoughts.  I hate it.  I feel infected by this nasty disease that is society.  Do I act on my racism? No.  I am always polite to people.  I try hard to treat others the way I want to be treated, but my thoughts; my thoughts are racist.  Growing up in a small town in Alabama didn’t help matters much.  My parents didn’t teach me to feel different about white people.  White people taught me to feel different about white people…..and the Internet.  I have dated outside of my race,have friends outside of my race as well, but I had to build a relationship with these people.  Living in the deep south has me fighting the damage that society has caused me to have about myself and others.

My first friend outside of my race was Sara.  We were in the first grade.  I thought nothing about being Sara’s friend because she was nice.  She was probably only about one of four or five white kids in a school of 1,000 or more.  The other 99% of the white population sent their kids to the private school.  Sara ran up to me at school one day with a gang of finger popping, neck rolling, black girls behind her.  She said, “Cleonette! Tell them you are my friend!”  I said yeah, not knowing what the big deal was.  She turned to them and said, “I told you I had a real friend”, with a very triumphant look on her face.  The girls looked at me weirdly.  I looked back.  They were all strange to me.

When I was 8, I had a crush on a college student named Dan from my dad’s job.  He had thick brown hair, blue eyes, and he was very nice to me.  I followed him every where, played in his hair, and begged him to buy me fruit roll ups.  My friends thought I was crazy.

In jr. high I learned about slavery, jim crow, and civil rights.  All that stuff was a long time ago, I thought.  I had white teachers.  They didn’t treat me any different than anyone else, not that I had anyone to compare to because our school was 98% black.  In high school, I saw the local librarian giving dirty looks to the black kids and warmly greeting the white kids.  I came in so much and she knew my dad.  She never looked at me like that but I didn’t get such warm greeting either.  I noticed that my teachers sent their kids to the private school, a school with not one black kid.  I wondered how could this school be good enough for you to teach here but not good enough to send your kids?  Traveling while on the volleyball team, I saw how much nicer the schools were in white neighborhoods than in the black ones.  What happened to equal education?  I went to church with my sister in Birmingham.  There were all kinds of people worshiping in the same church, totally different from back home.

College was awful, but I introduced a white guy I dated to my family.  They had good fun teasing me about it.  Cal was just a guy I liked to me, not a white guy.  At school, I got hateful looks from people I never saw in my life.  I had doors slammed on me.  I was given lower grades than I deserved.  My Literature I class was particularly bad.  I remember crying about my grades.  My mom even visited the professor when he gave me a bad grade on a test.  My mom came in his office and she gave me an oral test on the exam that he had written a big “D” on.  It was clear I knew the material.  He said I didn’t state my answers clearly enough or go into enough detail on the written portion.  The last day of class I looked at my “D” and the other black people who sat around me.  We all made D’s.  This white guy who was sitting in front of me, whom I didn’t even know was in the class, turned around and said, “Cool, I got an A.  I only showed up to class like a few times!  I don’t even think I took the first 2 test.”  Talking about my racist college will take up a whole post so I will move on.

I hate living in a white default world.  I imagine what white people would think if all of a sudden they woke up one day and every negative thing someone white did reflected on them.  I wonder what would they do if they picked up 3 beauty magazines to get makeup tips and each one had only black people and the one magazine that had only white people was called racist by the black people.  I wonder what would they do if they walked into a store and got followed around by some strange person who looked at them with accusing eyes.  I wonder what would they do if they were walking into a restaurant directly behind a group of black people and the black person holding the door pulled it closed in their face with a look of hatred.  I wonder how they would feel if they walked into the store to get “flesh toned” bandages and they were all the color of chocolate. What would they do if some black person walked up to them and told them to go back to Europe?  What if their college professor gave them a discussion question asking why has the white community failed? I could go on and on.

I have been in a situation where this girl touched my hair and said it looked like carpet.  This girl told me I wasn’t like other black people like it was some sort of compliment.  I can’t go to any online forum or comments section for news sites without seeing racist crap.  Whyyyyyy are they like that?!?   No!!!! I am not mad about slavery, I am too busy being pissed about the shit that happened today!!!

I only started feeling this way since I moved back home three years ago.  I hate it here!!!  I miss having friends from different cultures.  I miss not having white people avoid me like my blackness is contagious.  It doesn’t seem to bother anyone but me that this place is so racially divided.  I actually pray to God that I never ever hate anyone, especially based off the color of their skin.  Have I ever treated anyone different or bad based on their race? No.  I never will.  But I don’t trust them as readily and I guess that is what makes me racist. Wait, am racist or just cautious because of things that happened to me?  I need therapy.

Ex Sex

Posted by Cleo on

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Okay, go ahead and get you lolz out!  You know you have done it!  Ex sex.  It’s comfortable, safe, less risky….it’s selfish too.  When I meet someone new, I get nervous.  Everyone is sexting now.  That’s like, the “thing”.  Dating sucks…  I have all these guys “in love” with me, sexting me. Camera phone action…  They wonder why I won’t participate.  I definitely can’t say, “Because my scars will freak you out and I don’t want you to show it to anyone else so they can also say wtf is wrong with her”.  “I don’t show my body”, is what I say, but it leaves me open to continual asking. Some get bored and move on, others think I am being mysterious so they see me as a challenge, trying months, even years to see what it is I am hiding.  Beautiful men with chiseled bodies lusting after me…

Ex sex is so much easier.  They know me.  The real me.  Not me with the fake shit and the fancy clothes.  Me with the hurts, the pains…..the scars.  Some know me better than others, they can’t get enough of me.  I tell them we are friends.  They tell me we are friends.  Then they call me on lonely days, drunk days, I hate my girlfriend days, its raining and I’m horny days, its late at night and I’m thinking about you days….  They whisper that they love me in dark, discreet corners.  They beg me to come back.  They apologize…again.  They say I am the best.  I believe them. I am.  I don’t give in.  They lust some more.  They try again.  I say no.  They give up.  I let some time pass.  I make a whispered phone call.  They send me to the sky. I send them to heaven.  I send them back to hell, to unfaithful girlfriends who lie, nag, scream, and complain.  They want to come back.  I say no.  I say we are friends.  Repeat.

But Daddy…  Daddy sends me to heaven.  I don’t know if it is the connection of having carried his child inside of me that makes me keep going back, but I keep going back. That was in 2010, but I keep going back.  Daddy don’t give a fuck about any scars, only me.  Daddy don’t have time for games, lying, clubbing, fast women, or nagging girlfriends.  He works and works and works.  All the time he works.  I love attention.  He loves to work.  The end result….ex sex.

I want love.  To give love, to be loved.  I’m afraid.  I have this guy, CJ.  He loves me.  I’m afraid.  I try to push him away. I test his love.  We never made love.  He won’t go away.  I wish Daddy was more like him.  But Daddy will never be CJ.  Daddy will always be daddy.  I hate him in a good way.  Daddy wants to own me but I’m afraid I will lose myself.  Afraid the passion we have will consume me.  Afraid I will love him more than he loves me and that is a dangerous sort of thing for a woman.  He told me I can have it all if I would just give him a child.  I can’t.  I won’t. Not again.  I’ll lose myself in CJ’s love before I do that.  Maybe he and I can have forever sex…

Fat

Posted by Cleo on

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Why does being fat seem to offend people who are not fat?  This guy called me fat once and I didn’t even get mad.  I learned a very important lesson that day:  Only skinny people get mad when you call them fat.  Go ahead, try it.

When I was a kid, I wasn’t huge.  I was apple shaped; skinny everything and a round tummy and I had absolutely no problems with that.  It was mean comments from other people that gave me negative body image, not the media like they would lead some people to believe.  In fifth grade this girl told me I had a big stomach.  In my mind, I was like “yeah, and?”.  Then she laughed.  What was funny about my stomach?  It was just a freakin’ stomach!  Then in the seventh grade a guy told me I didn’t have the body for my outfit and a girl said my butt looked like a biscuit in my mustard colored jeans (it was the 90s, lol).  I was thick and I had boobs, so I got mostly compliments.  In eight and ninth grade I was feeling my body.  I started to wear clothes that complimented my assets.  In the 10th grade, I had a style and that all came to a halt one day when this guy, D, made a very sexual comment about my body.  D and I had quite a history and I was a little afraid of him.  He was a very handsome guy but he was aggressive, a bad boy, popular, and outspoken.  Me, I was the virgin, bookworm with a nice rack.

We were in math class (I hate math), taking a test.  D sat directly facing me in the classroom.  I would catch him staring at me sometimes, licking his lips.  The teacher stepped out of the classroom.  Ten seconds later, D said loudly, “Damnnnn, Cleonette got a fat ass pussy!”  My mouth dropped open, my legs snapped closed, my eyes bulged, horrified seeing the lust in D’s eyes and the eyes of every boy in the room staring at my lap.  I dressed in baggy clothes until senior year.

In college, I lost weight. My dad died.  I lost weight.  I didn’t have a car so I walked everywhere. I lost more weight when I was 20.  I liked my body, but the belly was still there, just easier to hide.  My style was crazy. My friends called me “the diva”.  I was.   I bought 3 or 4 new outfits every weekend.  I gained it back when I got sick.  Gained some more when I got on the birth control shot.  When I was 26, the scars came.  A love/hate relationship with my body became a hate/hate.

The scars, the weight.  The weight, the scars.  Now if I had to choose, I would rather just have the weight without the scars.  Fat and beautiful.  I could handle that.  So next time you look at your fat ass and hate it, thank God you don’t have scars all over your body…