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letra de this is my rant - naila keleta-mae

[part 1]
this is my rant
just last night i was reasoning limeing with a brethren, writer, poet friend discussing how toxic north america is and how imperative it is that we bounce – nothing like financial privilege. 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: complete with tan leather interior, and brown tinted windows, not black that’s far too ghetto

and what’s the alternative? actually live the politics i spew in social circles? d-mn 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. let’s talk about the sign o’ the times, 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

[part 2]
i feel so inadequate
lonely, i am. lonely with no one to invest all my love energy into. it sucks you hear me? it sucks. 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 n-ggers. sh-t then call me, call me that n-gga who’s tired of trying to fit. that n-gga 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 n-gga. hardcore exterior chick. the one who wants her cl-t l!cked on the regular ‘bout to go buy a vibrator type a n-gga. that creative type writer singer that sister who doesn’t fit

that platinum blond wig owning, sweet essential oil wearing, bougie, materialistic, spiritual n-gga. the sister outsider women spirit blazing fire shy as h-ll type of sister n-gga. that on the prowl saying she’s dying to f-ck but scared as h-ll 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

[part 3]
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 f-cking change. my womb is the change. my womb is the change

call me that angry black b-tch sister n-gga
whatever

we’re birthing the next generation with no support or 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?
i’m that sister who doesn’t fit
i’m that sister who doesn’t fit
that sister who doesn’t fit

- naila keleta mae

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