Black Queen Fools Gold


A remix of something from before...

You wear your black queens like expensive-looking accessories. You take true gold, wrap it in fool, sell it at a discounted price and rap, “Baby please don’t cry. You got to keep your head up”. You keep one by your side, one in your bed, one in your phone, her friend on your mind. You want them tall, you want them thick, you want them stylish but most importantly willing to take that dick.

You want their hair natural as each one of HER coils confirms your contributions to the struggle.  You want their minds open but not too open, you want their mouths shut, you want their souls silenced because the songs they sing do nothing but reveal your hypocrisy. You will tell your black queen why she is magical. You will tell your black queen what makes her beautiful. You will praise any reflection of yourself that you see in her and destroy the rest. You will define her, you will adorn her, you will display her. You will fluff her fro and cloth her skin and paint her lips with sticks of silence. Her mouth is to only open at night. Her mouth is to only open at night.

There will be those rare minds of black queens you cannot ignore. Their brilliance doesn’t ask for permission to speak. You do not make them giggle and coo. You know her britches are too big for you. You know she can out-smart you, out-wit you, out-run you, doesn’t give a shit about you. She sees through your bullshit, refuses to deal with that shit, and shakes her head, praying for whomever decided to sit next to you. These are the women you would never call more than a friend as you refuse to fuck what frightens you. Your ego, your dick, your weakness make sure you stay too steps away, never getting too close to the woman that sees you. Her intellect five times greater than your smarts. Your ego five times greater than her intellect, so she must be ignored, pushed down, deemed angry, dripping in PMS. The threat to the ego must be abolished because we all know niggas are sensitive about their shit.

Am I your black queen when you sing my praises in public only to hand-deliver my quelled self-esteem behind these doors of fake love? Am I your black queen when you fuck me and forget me, when you impregnate me and leave me, when I’ve been treated better by white men?

My black is mine. My pussy is mine, neither available for you to define. I have no desire to participate in the hotep orgy of blanketed ideals that will never truly consider the complexity of my individuality, that cannot see me beyond my brown skin and pink pussy. I have no time for the contradictions of the conscious brothas that will march for me, chant for me, protest in my name but still haven’t learned to respect ME, to love ME, only the idea of me, only the part of me that looks like him. Who can't accept a black woman who doesn't believe in god, who isn't searching for her king, who actually doesn't give a fuck if you text her back or not. Am I supposed to want you? Am I supposed to need you? You, who can see me only as a housewife or a ho? Permitting me to be a slut or a queen with no in between.

I am not your black queen, please remove this crown of thorns. I am not your black ho, please remove this scarlet letter of hypocrisy. I do not need you to teach me how to love myself, respect myself, honor myself, when you clearly aren't equipped for the job your goddamn self. 

I am not Mary, the mother of God or Mary Magdalene, the sinner begging for the black man's pardon. You cannot paint me as a housewife. You cannot paint me as a ho. I've snatched that paintbrush and created a homeowner who fucks whomever she desires regardless of their race, class, sex or gender. My bed does not discriminate like your whack-ass doctrine. 

I am not your queen. I am no daughter of God. I am the daughter of a man named Dick and a woman named Jane. I am perfectly ordinary. I am confident. I am self-conscious. I am happy. I am sad. I deserve respect. I demand respect. I will never stop demanding respect. I am an angry black woman with a pretty, pretty smile. I am just fine without you. 

Don’t call me queen when you don’t take the time to truly learn who the fuck I am.