Mississippi Cotton

I wonder the thoughts that run through a white man’s head when he looks at me
does he call me a “nigger” or does he see the God and intelligence through me
waking up daily to defeat this world of racism,
living in Mississippi doesn’t make it any better
feeling like I’ve got to work twice as hard to be heard,
doesn’t matter how much education I achieve or the fact I pronounce my words correctly,
so, am I still what these white folks think of me?

high yellow, that’s what they call me
no, I don’t think of myself any more highly than the next red bone or chocolate diva
in my eyes, we’re all God’s children
but, each of us have our own stories to tell and have experienced different situations

must say, conservative Christian is a very common term down in these parks
almost like we all serve the same god in our own worlds
last time I checked, God didn’t have a color; nor a face; nor a physical body,
unless you’re talking about the real Christians who stand in physical form for God
no, I don’t think my God has cornrows or dread locks,
nor do I think God is a blonde-hair, blue eyed being
just a disgrace in my sight, if you’ve noticed

Mississippi is so ass-backwards
we can never evolve as a state, nor as a people
just take a rope and lynch me, why don’t you?
but no, we still hold some good people,
with the scriptures of the Bible stitched in their skin
who knew that the past made a brighter future for me, I guess it’s because of my ancestry
I laugh at the people who still refer to my kind as “coons,” “jiggaboos,” or “minstrels,”
I laugh…why?
because God views the hearts of man
he see the anger in their hearts and souls,
they ain’t fooling no one but themselves
acting all high and mighty,
just wanted them to know that they’re no better than me, or my God
the Mississippi cotton that I drive by everyday doesn’t get picked through my hands
no, I don’t think I could’ve survived being anyone’s mammy or slave
but then again, I have become a slave
a slave in thinking that my very being in determined by how much money I make,
how many degrees I hold,
how long I remain a person that isn’t a statistic…

thinking back to the sweaty backs of my grandmother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s
is my future worth giving them the satisfaction of carrying the family’s name well
yes, I believe so,
but I refuse to be some uneducated, poor black welfare queen
however, that’s what I think these white folks think of me when I walk into their stores,
eat in their restaurants
work in their corporate stores and offices,
but why?
because I was told to think like this
brainwashed to believe that God wanted us separate, which is so not so,

now I understand that everything is God’s on this Earth
everything belongs to him,
even the racist minds that still want me to pick this Mississippi Cotton

Mississippi Cotton

Copyright© 2010
De'Shundra Gibson, All Rights Reserved

The Strands of my Hair Spoke

I sat down.
She picked up the scissors.
Grabbing huge chunks of my hair, she cut more than expected.
After she was done, I felt liberated.

"I am not my hair!"
the funny thing is, over time I began to not favor long hair
didn’t feel the need to be the “desired” of the Hollywood image
chose not to be conformed to an image, in a box
I don't think I'm looking back any further, for I know that I'm not my hair

don't care if I'm being judged by the length,
no, I'm not a lesbian nor am I going through a life crisis uncontrollable
the choice to cut my hair came at the time when I wanted a change, needed a change
I guess people must get used to it, because this is my life....not theirs

getting back into reality, I looked down at my feet
noticing the pond of hair around me, I got emotional thinking about what had happened
"I'm bald," screaming with a loud and dramatic voice,
placing my head in my lap, I rose thinking about my life
my hair carried so much of me and the conceited attitude that I had developed
however, I failed to realize that my hair also carried the struggles and pains in my world
having the one man that I loved telling me to keep my hair long and to never cut it,
I always held unto it like some comfort blanket or defense mechanism
he was controlling me and abusing my heart,
been praying to God to give me light through my dark situation,
so as my hair fell from my head, I finally let go

each time the scissors were used, it was cutting the horror out of my world
each time the scissors were used, it was cutting the lies and drama out of my world
each time the scissors were used, it was cutting the old me out....
...... allowing the new me to rise

I felt free for the first time,
feeling as though I could conquer anything
thank God that I know that my source strength doesn't derive from my hair,
my strength is in HIM….
running my fingers through my head, I felt sexy
smiling at the image that I saw in the mirror, I began to cry
never in the thought of misery, but the miraculous power in my God
the final bit of what I have left amazes my soul

I didn't know that my hair had words to speak to me,
didn't realize that each fiber had an opinion or personality
all I could hear were "thank you's" at the sight of a new chapter in my life

The Strands of My Hair Spoke

Copyright© 2010
De'Shundra Gibson, All Rights Reserved

Call Me Crazy

welcome to the jungle…
the mind of a maniac, but more so the mind of an eccentric artist
walking around looking for a purpose
emptiness with my pen and pad, writing
experiences, situations, and interactions control the essence of Essence Franklin
driven under the belief that I will see my maker
we’ve lost touch since I was born
don’t remember what he looks like, don’t remember touching his face
waiting on the day when he will approach me and talk to me,
that very day, I might think back on this day, thinking about that day

randomness…
I’m always in outer space whenever I’m pondering on my curiosity
don’t ever have to smoke any Mary Jane to get to where I’m at
no need for getting high, for I wake up high on the day
the day where I can spill out my creative juices on the platform
for people to pick up my shattered soul and read it, enjoy it

rubbing in my hair, it’s short as ever
still reflecting on the “newness” in my life through a simple hair cut
I feel closer to God.
feeling in the mood to worship, I’m growing more closer to God
growing more in love with him, too
spiritual-being evolving through her spiritual maker

I hear voices in my head, telling me to embrace my inner being
no, Essence Franklin isn’t my alter-ego; I don’t believe in those
sounds quite demonic to me, for I’m not into the skull and bones
with the cross wrapped around my neck, I breathe
the poet side of me in making love again with the ink and paper,
can’t make it stop….it feels too good
call me crazy but, I think a lot
sometimes by things that don’t seem to matter, but do…

Call Me Crazy

Copyright© 2010
De'Shundra Gibson, All Rights Reserved