this is my rant.
just last night i was reasoning limeing with a bredren, writer, poet friend discussing how toxic north america is and how imperative it is that we bounce.

continually bombarded by propaganda machines. numb. the natural result of excessive north american conditioning. numb i am. close to being immune too.
politics slip so easily. chant down babylon one minute.
surf the net to price my future SUV the next.

and what’s the alternative? actually live the politics i spew in social circles? damn all that "revolution of self" talk makes me nauseous. conveniently conscious sister. looking for a conveniently conscious significant other so we can sit back, relax and listen to the 8-track.

unwind over a bottle of good south african red wine. make love ‘til the sun sets again. revolutionize the world sprawled out on plush leather couches after a delicious five course meal. i feel so inadequate

lonely, i am. lonely. with no one to invest all my love energy into it sucks you hear me? i don’t even know if i have the energy to talk politics, discuss world issues, drop names, show how well read (red) i am, be deep as i navigate my way into a whole other crew.

you know, the conscious conscious really conscious black crew you know, the crew of readers, thinkers that chant down babylon with proper colonial english sophistication?

the crew that differentiates between black people and niggers. shit then call me that nigga who’s tired of trying to fit. that nigga raised in so much white it seeps out of her pores when she least expects it.

i’m that canadian, trying to be jamaican, african-faking nigger. hardcore exterior chick. the one who wants her clit licked on the regular ‘bout to go by a vibrator type a nigga. that creative type writer singer that sister who doesn’t fit.

that platinum blond wig owning, sweet essential oil wearing, bougie, materialistic, spiritual nigga. the sister outsider women spirit blazing fire shy as hell type of sister nigga. that on the prowl saying she’s dying to fuck but scared as hell when the time comes kinda sister. who can cum when the loving’s good.

that eyebrow-plucking, armpit-shaving on occasion hairy-legged sister. the one who fluctuates from style to style from gender to gender from sanity to other sister.

so yah, it’s crazy right ‘cause this world has been ruled by misogynist and misandrist energy for so long and all the female energy is suspended on the cross
and our blood is being shed.

that female energy: distorted, circumcised, manipulated and relegated to the back so that intellectual debates about black political change can occur.
man. my womb is the fucking change

call me that angry black bitch sister nigger
birthing the next generation with no support of voice.
suicide hovers on the breath in the realms of thought
of all the so-called strong black womyn warriors i know.

is there room in the revolution
to deal with that?