Articles

Darius Simpson & Scout Bostley – “Lost Voices” (CUPSI 2015)

September 23, 2019


The first day I realized I was black, it was
2000, we had just learned about blacks for the first time in 2nd grade. At recess, all
the white kids chased me into the woods chanting slave. My mother said I refused to come
out for three hours, said she thinks I was lost in the trees, but I just needed to be
closer to my roots. As a woman,
having a boyfriend is a battle If 70% of us are abused in a lifetime
what is the number of men doing it? The answer is not 1
man running faster than light to complete a mission
and that is what leaves me sick The second day I realized I was black, was
in a gas station I only had 25 cents so I searched what to spend it on. The cashier
floated from aisle to aisle eyes fixed on my hands. That was the first time I realized
skin color was a crime, My body has become cause to write legislation
cause for ass smacks in the back of a class my body has demanded everything except respect.
I have been asked “what makes you feel unsafe”
and I struggle not to yell EVERYTHING
The third day I realized I was black was in an all-white cafeteria. I gathered my legs
under me, made rockets of my feet and approached a girl. She told me she wasn’t into my type
of guy. I felt the words shoot daggers into my melanin, I’ve never wanted to disappear
so bad. As a woman I’ve learned to answer to everything
except my name little lady is not said to mean equal but
to make sure I remember my place I battle between wanting to own my body and
accepting that there is a one in four chance a man will lay claim to my skin
a plot of land for the taking The last day I realized I was black was in
an elevator in California. To the white woman that told me she knows what it feels like
to be black because she grew up poor, I would tell you to think before you speak
but your mind has got to be bacteria infected and any filter through that labyrinth of nothingness
might be worse than no thought at all. There is a group of women going around the
room sharing their personal definition of feminism
He is the only man in the room and all of a sudden the tone switches to
destroying the patriarchy by annihilating all men.
Do you know what it means to be black, to pop lock your way in and out of hugs?
It is not a problem that you want to sympathize but to tell me you know my pain, is to stab
yourself in the leg because you saw me get shot. We have two different wounds, and looking
at yours does nothing to heal mine, Never will I turn away an ally
but when a man speaks on my behalf that only proves my point
Movements are driven by passion not by asserting yourself dominant by a world
that already put you there You speak to know pain you only fathom because
we told you it was there You know nothing of silence, until someone
who cannot know your pain tells you how to fix it. Every day is a crucifixion when there
is no regard for lines crossed. I fight so my voice can be heard
I fight for the voices you silence all in the name of what is right
The problem is you assume this struggle is attached to a social class, I am black and
and beautiful by nature, ain’t no income that can change that.
The problem with speaking up for each other is that everyone is left without a voice.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *