We Are Not The Same

We Are The Same narratives are lazy and incorrect.

We don’t need to be the same to be considered human. Humans need to acknowledge difference and not tie it to inhumanity. More specifically, humans need to acknowledge who is doing the dehumanizing because Black and White are not balanced.

The very terms Black and White as they relate to people in present day are racial terms. Black translates to the 1560’s Spanish and Portuguese coined ‘Negro’ denoting the black skinned people of Africa classified as inferior to justify indigenous servitude & genocide, the Transatlantic Slave Trade and Chattel Slavery of the Americas and the resulting racial discrimination present among nations with a history of European contact.

Race is a heirarchy that benefits one group of people over another. To suggest we work equally to overcome racism suggests we both exercise, benefit and suffer from racism equally. We do not.

We Are The Same removes culpability from the oppressor and disseminates the labour to create change among the oppressed.

We Are The Same denies & erases people’s specific identities and experiences that have been historically removed and redefined by conquer, exodus, genocide, enslavement, assimilation and stereotyping.

We Are The Same tells us that not only must the oppressed fight to survive under oppressive conditions but they are responsible for destroying these very oppressive conditions, that they did not create nor benefit from, to ease the burden on the oppressor.

We Are The Same tells us that talking about difference is divisive, as opposed to the act of dividing people actually being divisive.

Race is not our doing, nor our responsibility to dismantle. We have laboured enough. Undo your own mistakes without expecting applause for doing the human thing of treating people as the humans they are.

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The Roses of Jericho

To the flowers that grow from concrete
Blooming in dark rooms and aren’t trusted to mature
alone
You are the roses of Jericho.
Tumbling over deserted landscapes
savouring water
opening for resurrection spreading seeds
pollinating flowers
Dying
Shrinking
Travelling again
with the wind
pushing to arid lands
labouring light in darkness manifesting greatness in absence blowing life to more
Death
Survival
You are complete beings.
Alone.
You are The Roses of Jericho.

White Women Are Easy

White Women Are Easy
Alabaster Goddesses chiseled to harmony and poise

Like the strange fruit on their Poplar Trees swinging, for just a glance

White Women Are Easy.
Courteous to pluck your eyes from your sunfilled sisters so you may rest in darkness

White Women Are Easy.
Encouraging those great muscles to build a masterful house,
Enthralled by your tropical taste in her naturalised mouth
White women are easy.
Voices that ring out the shrill screams of tortured negresses.

White women are easy.
Light steps, light years ahead of the bondaged feet of yester year

White women are easy.

Long hair falling to the wayside

not stood startled at attention,

shrunk by fear,

wrapped tightly for protection,

braided for direction.

White women are easy
There’s no kink in their straight waists, no whineing in their stoic hips, no bark from their thin lips, just an easy road.

White women are easy. Black man, you deserve ease
For it was the hard black woman that birthed you into a world of inferiority, but dared to teach you your greatness.
It was a hard black woman that watched you broken, beaten and starved, but stole through the night to suckle you the last of her milk.

It was a hard black woman that broke back bailed you from the bounty hunters ilk
It is a hard black woman that defends your civil liberties when you deny her her own.
It is a hard black woman that scrapes every dime to raise the seeds you deserted to carry their fathers name where the Negro trade winds never blow
It is a hard black woman that still rises with the sun to replenish an earth that is intent on destroying her
It is a hard black woman mocked for being everything that she isn’t whilst being stolen for all that she is
It is the hard black woman grossly brutalized, infantalized, hypersexualized, erased, restrained, imprisoned, silenced, stifled, killed and forgotten that loves you the hardest

But who wants a hard black woman

Enjoy your ease

Midnight

I like my loves to be so midnight black they merge with blue. Let me hold the sky in my hands. I’ll be the sand in yours. And together we’ll have the heavens and the earth and like the stars in between we’ll collide. Be one with me and I’ll be one with you. I an I, like yin & yang, the sun & moon, the night and day. Rest and wake, pulse and wane, collide & recede like air, like blood, like water, like us.

Self Care: What Made You Smile

When you’re abstaining from sex, horny from PMSing and a fuck boy decides to text you, it’s not usually a laughing matter but today I found the hilarity in the comedic timing of this testing situation.

Not today Beelzebub!

I’d been awake in the early hours reflecting on relationships and the ways I’d mentally willed anyone to love me in the past, authentically or not, just to fill the agonising hole of isolation that comes from being on the Autism Spectrum; unable to satisfy a human need for connection and communication.

Social awkwardness mat not sound like much of a feat but when you spend your entire life desperately attempting to befriend with no ability to make small talk, give eye contact, relate to emotion or speak honestly without your brutalism piercing a world of grey emotion amongst your black and white being, it’s an endless agonising trauma.

Nowhere feels like home. Your puzzle piece doesn’t fit the emotional jigsaw of your family and open displays of affection make you squirm, so the general neurotypical consensus is that you’re cold, distant, unable to reach, unable to love.

Your silence and rigidity invites bullying, your emotionless bitchy resting face offering a betraying propaganda of what truly lies beneath the surface.

Fortunately for me, I can connect with male energy. Find safety, freedom and comfort in the confines of masculinity. Be the cub to a feline and parade with soft extroversion in a social space whose rules I can better understand.

Unfortunately for me, being a fatherless woman searching for masculinity to connect to within a hypersexualised society often doesn’t bring male best friends I can play fight and go on endless platonic adventures with, but guys interested in one thing and one thing only, that irresistible pleasure too many are willing to go to great coercive and predatorial lengths to get: panty pudding!

I’ve used apps in the past naively trying to befriend local people with similar interests that for some reason all happened to be males with ulterior motives. The app is called Befriend, not try to date and have sex with. Why can’t people just follow the rules?!

I gave into some of them, accepted that sexual connection was better than nothing, but in the process learned that intimacy was not the cure to my loneliness but a need to love myself.

Suffice to say on my journey to self love predators came along at my most testing moments, so I’ve disconnected from all males, deleted numbers and started a fresh. But this guy, just doesn’t take no for answer.

He’d tried to get me to go out with him for months, refusing to acknowledge my trauma and stress of being raped, my distrust for all men and need to be by myself for healings sake. I couldn’t take the constant pestering so I explained to him very politely that I would no longer be able to speak to him.

He replied ‘cool.’ Really? A guy that went as far as crying down the phone expressing his love for me (I’d seen him once briefly when we first met through a mutual friend) and his wish that he could treat me right replies with that unfazed monosyllabic retort! I knew what he was after but it’s still disappointing to be proved right.

Thankfully I didn’t hear from him for months (thank you Jesus, he finally got the message!) and in the very moment I found comfort in the realisation that I’m not interested in sex, dislike the thought of absorbing so many people’s energies – in what appears to be a social norm of many short-lived intimate relationships – and wanted to dedicate time to controlling my sexual urges so that nothing may have power over what I want; he pops up with ‘you good?’

I bursted out with laughter. The audacity was side-splitting, timing even more so. The number was unknown (fuck boy identification #1) but his profile picture was a funny meme I remembered he’d used before – Well done, Autistic photographic memory 🙌  – so I went straight over to the block button and deleted the message.

WOW, who would’ve thought I’d get to a stage where I was able to ignore attention from a guy.

Imagine had I been vulnerable and in that desperate space to have anyone to connect to regardless of intention! I’m not in this period of hibernation for nothing, I’ll be damned if I dont learn something.

My personal power made me smile today and I celebrated with my anti-fuck boy repellent song; Beniton Work Remix 💅

Join me in chanting the lyrics:

Woman don’t you ever give a man a chance to use you because you know he will neglect you.

And if God inna yuh life and you believe in unu self, it nuh really matter who be against you.

If a man nuh treat you right (desert him)

Inna your business dem (lurking)

Tell dem straight up, (yuh nuh like it)

Dem always gwarn like dem are (the nicest)

From the day me know me set, me know me (righteous)

Dem only know you when dem end up inna (crisis)

Nuff uh dem out dere a waste gyal a waste man

nuh mek dem move like a yuh dem a wait pon

Dem always a turn on a bend of frustration

Always a guh bruk it, dem nuh set a foundation.

Di bad mind ting ah nuh go work, di hypocrite ting ah nuh go work.

Tell your ex to guh look wuk, and tap mix up inna dirt!

Self Care: Everyday Joys

Having positive associations with sounds, tastes, textures and places can make it easier to evoke positive feelings when you need a pick me up. Today find joy in an every day activity. Instagram.com/Allaboutaish 

I found joy in making the difficult decision not to apply for two arts residencies I’m really passionate about for the sake of my physical and mental health.

I’ve been trying to work my way up the creative industries through unpaid roles in arts marketing, event production, project management and cultural research for several years and all my learning has been acquired alternatively through University Public Talks, Free Seminars, Conferences, Workshops, Steering Groups and youth arts initiatives. It’s my only leverage against formally educated candidates competing for  jobs in the culture industries, so I don’t take missed opportunities lightly.

But the truth is, I’m ill. My body is overcome with extreme post traumatic vulnerability and weariness and has retreated to a state of self preserving hibernation.

I feel my dreams ignite and wither away just as fast, watch behind teary eyes my hard done research & project plans rot away in drafts, feel time move on as I dissociate from the present yet still hear the distant chimes of my body clock, warning me that there are only four years left until I am no longer a young person and my lifeline of guidance will be cut short.

I’ve been in this position before, losing years of my life to the confines of my bedroom due to mental health support inefficiencies. I have no control over the way people treat, misuse or abuse me or the external traumas and setbacks  I’m routinely exposed to, but I do have control in caring for my body, pushing my worries aside, attending to its needs and trusting in God’s ability to pull me out of darkness once again and ensure what is for me, reaches me at the right time and in the right way.

Usually a tough decision leaves me bathing in despair but today I soaked my sorrows in Soca, feeling it swelt and melt under the music of the sun & caught a light ray from a beautiful soul with sound words for my afflictions.

There’s no such thing as a missed opportunity’. If something doesn’t make its way towards you, its just leaving a space for something more you, more yours. We often quantify ‘opportunity’ by what we think success is – residencies, internships, jobs, experiences. But opportunity is also struggling to get out of bed because you have healing to do. Not leaving the house because familiarity offers safety to begin to grow out of your cocoon. Opportunity is exactly what each morning brings to you. So congratulations on taking up the massive opportunity to focus on yourSelf and your healing, there’s gonna be so much growth and progress!

AISHA

Pree the vibes that helped me feel alive & find joy in your everyday.