10 Things I Want To Say To A Black Woman by Joshua Bennett

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All women are beautiful…

1. I wish I could put your voice in jar, wait for those lonely
winter nights when I forget what God sounds like, run to the
nearest maximum security prison and open it. Watch the notes
that bounce off the walls like ricocheted bullets, punching
keyholes into the sternums of every brother in the room,
skeletons opening, rose blossom beautiful to remind you that
the way to a black man’s heart is not through his stomach, it is
through the heaven in your ‘hello’; the echo of unborn galaxies
that pounces forth from your vocal cords, that melts ice grills
into oceans, baptizing our lips, and so harsh words fade from
our memories, and we forget why we stopped calling you
divine in the first place.

2. When I was born my mother’s smile was so bright, it knocked
the air from my lungs, and I haven’t been able to breathe right
since. It’s something about the way light dances off your
teeth, the way the moon gets jealous when you mock her
crescent figure with the shape of your mouth. Queen, you
make the sky insecure, self-conscious for being forced to
stare at your face every morning and realize that the blues of
her skin was painted by that symphony doing cartwheels on
your tongue.

3. Who else can make kings out of bastards, turn a fatherless
Christmas into a floor full of gifts and a kitchen that smells like
the Lord is coming tomorrow, and we must eat well tonight. I
used to think my sister was a blacksmith, the way she baked
fire and metal and made kitchen miracles at fourteen, making
enough food to feed a little boy who didn’t have the words to
say how much she meant to him back then, or enough backbone
to say so the day he turned twenty.

4. Your skin reminds me of everything beautiful I have ever
known: the colour of ink on a page, the earth we walk on and
the cross that hung my Saviour.

5. I’ve seen you crucified too, spread out on billboards to be
spiritually impaled by millions of men with eyes like nails, who
made mothers of your daughters; so I’m sorry for the music
deals, for Justin Timberlake at the Superbowl, and that young
man on the corner this morning, who made you undershade your
flesh and become invisible. Never doubt, he only insults you
because, men are confused. Now we are trained to destroy or
conquer everything we see from birth.

6. If I ever see Don Imus in public I will punch him in the face,
one time for every member of the Rutgers and Tennessee
Women Basketball Teams. Then I’ll show him a picture of
Phylicia Rashad, Assata Shakur, Arthur Kit, my mother, my
grandmother and my seven-year-old niece, who’s got eyes like
firebombs, and then dare him to tell me that black women are
only beautiful in one shade of skin.

7. You are like a sunrise in a nation at war; you remind people
that there is always something worth waiting up to.

8. When we are married I will cook, do the dishes and whatever
else it takes to let you know that traditional gender roles have
no place in the home we build; so my last name is an option,
babysitting the kids a treat we split equally, and our bed will be
an ancient temple where I construct altars of wax on the small
of your back. We make love like the sky is falling, moving to the
rhythm of bedsprings and Bell Biv DeVoe. Angels applauding in
unison, saying this is the way it was meant to be.

9. My daughter will know her father’s face from the day she is
born, and I can only pray that the superman complex lasts long
enough for me deflect the pain this world will aim at her from
the moment she is old enough to realize that the colour brown
is still not considered human most places. But my daughter will
have a smile like a wheelchair, and so even when I am at my
worst, when the Kryptonite of this putrid planet threatens to
render me grounded, the light dancing off of her teeth, will
transform the shards of my broken body into heart-shaped
blackbirds, taking flight on a wing that reminds me of my
Saviour’s hands, my daughter’s smile, my mother’s laugh when I
was in her womb.

10. Never stop pushing, this world needs you now more than
ever…

here’s a link to the video..

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5 must watch spoken word videos from youtube:

Spoken word is a type of poetry that deals with current reference to current events.YouTube has a bunch of these videos that are inspiring o watch and move you emotionally below I have listed some of my favorite videos to watch.

1.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwvdOum4ed0

2.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0QiFy8dmX0

3.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlJFvxad1_A&list=UUc4yillQaNo6a-iG2PYbbrA&index=20

4.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1r_82UIAgo

5.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOBja5WIX94&list=PL9471EC7EFD39EF93&index=26

6.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gU7ItOxr9g

p.s number 3,5,6 are my top favorite, their are amazing!!

A Heartfelt Plea to Teens Everywhere: by whereasi

A Heartfelt Plea to Teens Everywhere

Posted on September 15, 2012 by whereasi

Read: My Story – How I Became A Grandmother Raising Grandchildren. Posted July 2012

A Heartfelt Plea to Teens Everywhere

For the past sixteen years I have been raising four developmentally disabled grandchildren, and while I love them dearly, the sacrifices I have had to make over those years have been challenging. When my adopted daughter, who is also disabled, was fifteen, she ran away from our home where she was greatly loved to be with a sixteen year-old boy with equally disabling challenges whom she thought she loved. The result of that union was a child, my first grandchild.

Their romance didn’t last and, when my daughter discovered she was pregnant, she asked to return home. That was the beginning of a great upheaval in my life which continues to this day, sixteen years later, as I now raise four of her children, all developmentally delayed and identified with various disabilities, these being: Intellectual Disability, ADHD, ODD, Foetal Alcohol Syndrome, severe behaviour problems, anxiety disorders, and learning disabilities.

After the birth of her first child, my daughter left home again and went on to give birth to a total of seven children over the next eight years. Over the course of that time, I applied for custody of four of them with each one of my grandchildren being placed in my care when just a few weeks of age. The youngest being a cocaine baby who experienced the trauma of being delivered in a toilet at her mother’s home. After numerous court appearances, assessments, and interviews, I was granted sole custody of each child before they reached the age of two. They have three more siblings out there somewhere that my grandchildren are not aware exist and will in all likelihood never meet.

While it’s not my intention to lay guilt trips or blame on anyone, please read the following brief list of changes that raising grandchildren has made to my life and then learn how it could all so easily have been avoided.

From the day I discovered my fifteen year-old daughter was pregnant:

It seemed the whole neighbourhood discovered it too, causing nasty gossip and speculation as to who the father was.


At first, my daughter asked to raise her child at home, but I soon found myself forced into a decision to register her in a group home for pregnant teens when at eight and a half months pregnant she was hanging out on the downtown streets, drinking and getting high with friends.


Although I was myself a single mother raising three children of my own, after causing my family much distress by running away from home, my daughter, on learning she was pregnant, decided to come back home and have the child. As the father was, by that time, out of the picture I was naturally expected by the public health nurse to be my daughter’s coach during the delivery of my first grandchild.


While my daughter was registered in the group home I visited her daily and invested time in attending meetings around her, and her child’s, future.


Due to her decision to return home after giving birth, there was endless baby items to purchase. Naturally, due to her young age, this financial burden was placed upon my shoulders.


For the short time she returned home with her baby, she was visited weekly by a parents’ aide during which time I was expected to be supportive of her attempts to parent, despite her disabilities which invariably challenged both her ability and desire to be a mother, which led to my having to complete the parenting tasks myself.


When the few weeks she decided to parent came to an end, the CAS informed me that my daughter’s son would have to be placed in foster care. At the time, my daughter asked me to seek custody of my grandson.


When I informed the CAS I had decided to seek custody I was subject to an assessment, police check, regular visits to my home by a caseworker, a financial assessment by legal aid, and a consultation with a lawyer who put forth a plan of care on my behalf.


Within weeks, the child was placed in my care and my daughter left home again. While I parented her child she lived at various friend’s homes or on the street. During this time, she was held at knife point by one so-called friend.


A year later, I learned she was pregnant again by a different man.


By the time her first child was three and a half, she had given birth to another child who was ultimately adopted, and was pregnant with her third child of whom I took custody.


Less than one year later, her fourth child came along of whom I took custody, followed by her fifth child who was adopted out, followed by her sixth child of whom I took custody, until finally she had her seventh child who the CAS allowed her to keep.


Throughout this time I learned that all four children suffered with various disabilities and for the past sixteen years have been involved with their special needs 24/7.

It’s almost impossible to describe how emotional these past sixteen years have been, so I will simply close by encouraging sexually active TEENS everywhere to practice birth control. I cringe at the thought that all it would have taken to avoid my becoming a grandmother raising grandchildren was the use of birth control pills by my daughter, or condoms by the children’s fathers. Such a simple task overlooked by so many TEENS who honestly believe becoming a parent will not happen to them.

Please visit:

http://challengedhope.wordpress.com/2012/09/15/a-heartfelt-plea-to-teens-everywhere/

for more information

Haiti’s Silenced Victims

Haiti’s Silenced Victims

December 12, 2012

An article from the New York Times discusses archaic treatment of rape victims in Haiti. The article says:

For decades, Haitian victims were blamed for inviting rape, and seldom spoke out. Politicians and the media perpetuated these stigmas. So did the law: a woman’s testimony that she didn’t consent to sex was insufficient for conviction, and monetary restitution or marriage to the rapist was considered a solution. A 2005 law made rape a punishable offense after intense lobbying from survivors and the Haitian Ministry of Women’s Affairs. In 2010, the law was updated after chilling reports of rapes committed against the elderly and children.

But old habits die hard. In Haiti, attitudes toward rape are similar to those that were common in the United States before the 1970s and ’80s. Haitian officials often claim that residents of slums and displaced person camps are promiscuous. Despite new laws, few women will ever report the event because of the prevailing social norms that blame victims for their own assault. Even fewer survivors will be in a position to navigate the complicated procedures to bring charges against a rapist.

Here is the article:

Opinion

Haiti’s Silenced Victims

By ATHENA KOLBE and ROBERT MUGGAH

Published December 8, 2012

A TEXT MESSAGE was the first sign that something was wrong. In the week after Hurricane Sandy hit Haiti, our research team was assessing post-disaster crime, food security and service provision. The message came from a Haitian researcher in our group, an enthusiastic and talented graduate student whom we’ll call Wendy. She had been walking alone a few blocks from our hotel when she was forced into a house and brutally raped.

We quickly located a doctor but he refused to examine Wendy, saying she needed to be seen by the authorities first. We then contacted the police, and after a grueling interview in which one officer repeatedly asked Wendy, “What did you do to make him violate you?” the police said she was free to be examined. The doctor, however, couldn’t be found.

Although Haiti routinely suffers from political and natural disasters, rape is an especially insidious crisis. Haiti’s brutal dictatorships used rape as a political tool to undermine the opposition. A 2006 study reported that some 35,000 women and girls in Port-au-Prince were sexually assaulted in a single year. In the aftermath of the 2010 earthquake, residents of the capital’s tent cities were 20 times more likely to report a sexual assault than other Haitians.

Haitian prosecutors are reluctant to pursue charges against rapists unless a victim is examined by a doctor within the first 72 hours to “certify” the assault, but few victims are able to satisfy this requirement. The police referred Wendy to a state-run clinic in the nearest large town, a three-hour drive over washed-out roads. When Wendy arrived she was told the doctor was out. A nurse mentioned that he could be found at a private clinic nearby.

It had been more than 16 hours since the attack. Wendy hadn’t slept or bathed. Her clothes were ripped and dirty. Dried blood matted her hair where the rapist had slammed her head against a wall. The doctor wanted verification from the police that a sexual assault complaint had been filed before he conducted an examination to retrieve fluids left by the perpetrator. The police were called but they claimed a “fee” was required before they would release a copy of the sexual assault complaint.

A women’s rights organization in the capital suggested we pay a bribe and complain to the policeman’s superiors later. Our colleague drove several hours back to the town where the assault had taken place, paid a $25 bribe, and waited while the officer wrote up a report that merely stated that Wendy had lodged a complaint against a particular man but not that she had been raped by him. After some argument, the officer agreed to include the allegation of sexual assault.

It took more than 24 hours before Wendy finally saw a doctor who admitted he’d never been trained to examine a rape victim. She cried the entire time. Random individuals wandered freely in and out of the room during the exam, including patients, nurses and a man visiting his sick wife in an adjacent bed.

In North America, rape victims are often given medication to fight possible exposure to sexually transmitted disease as well as the morning-after pill. Wendy was terrified of pregnancy. She declared that although she didn’t believe in abortion, she would rather “die” than have “that man put a baby inside of me.” Wendy knew about the morning-after pill but wasn’t aware if it was available or legal in Haiti. The doctor falsely told her that after 24 hours it was too late to use it.

After Wendy’s exam, the police refused to pick up the medical report or fluid samples collected by the doctor. Instead, she was told to take them to a state-run medical clinic for sexual assault victims in the capital, a 15-hour drive away. The doctor then demanded an exorbitant fee for the medical report. The final document stated simply that Wendy had complained of being raped and was found to have evidence of sexual activity. No record was made of the bruises covering her thighs or the many lacerations on her body.

BEFORE Wendy could shower, she had to return to the small town where the assault occurred for yet another interrogation by the police. Our colleague, meanwhile, was scouring pharmacies for the morning-after pill. He finally tracked down a pharmacist who knew what it was. But the medication, like most pharmaceuticals in Haiti, was imported. The instructions were in Arabic and Portuguese, neither of which the pharmacist could read. He didn’t know which package contained the morning-after pill and which contained hormones taken by post-menopausal women. Nor did our colleague, who closed his eyes and picked a box, which by chance happened to be the right one. After taking the pill, Wendy slept for the entire ride to Port-au-Prince, helped into oblivion by the glass of homemade gin the doctor had prescribed.

We had no intention of sweeping this incident under the rug. We contacted the police, women’s rights organizations and various government ministries. We spoke with the police chief from the area where the assault had taken place. He said he had questioned the perpetrator, who claimed that Wendy had had sex with him willingly. Because the medical report made no mention of violent assault, the police officer in charge, who had seen her bruises and cuts himself, said there was nothing he could do.

Calls to the women’s rights organizations and other civil society groups confirmed that there was little to be done. “You could pay something, give them a gift so they arrest the guy,” one human rights worker suggested. “But he’ll probably just pay another bribe and get out.”

For decades, Haitian victims were blamed for inviting rape, and seldom spoke out. Politicians and the media perpetuated these stigmas. So did the law: a woman’s testimony that she didn’t consent to sex was insufficient for conviction, and monetary restitution or marriage to the rapist was considered a solution. A 2005 law made rape a punishable offense after intense lobbying from survivors and the Haitian Ministry of Women’s Affairs. In 2010, the law was updated after chilling reports of rapes committed against the elderly and children.

But old habits die hard. In Haiti, attitudes toward rape are similar to those that were common in the United States before the 1970s and ’80s. Haitian officials often claim that residents of slums and displaced person camps are promiscuous. Despite new laws, few women will ever report the event because of the prevailing social norms that blame victims for their own assault. Even fewer survivors will be in a position to navigate the complicated procedures to bring charges against a rapist.

Having an education, money and connections doesn’t necessarily help. By the time Wendy returned to Port-au-Prince she wanted only to return to her family. Her mother thanked us for getting her medical attention and asked that we never mention the rape to Wendy again. Wendy said she just wanted to forget about it.

She blamed herself for walking alone, for wearing borrowed pants that were too tight, for smiling and saying hello when the man first approached her, for freezing up and not screaming when he attacked her. Despite her education, resilience and dedication to fighting violence against women, Wendy could not bring herself to face the grueling road of rape prosecution in Haiti.

So she dropped it and asked us to do the same. When we told the women’s rights group she didn’t want to pursue a case, they weren’t surprised. “It happens all the time,” said a member of the staff. “We get dozens of cases each month, and out of those sometimes not even one woman will put herself through this process.” It is hard to blame them

Athena Kolbe is a researcher from the University of Michigan School of Social Work and co-director of a social work institute in Pétionville, Haiti. Robert Muggah is the research director of Brazil’s Igarapé Institute and a professor of International Relations at the Catholic University in Rio de Janeiro

6 stereotype of men

vb

1.all they want is sex
so maybe men think about sex throughout more than women do, but that does not make them mean-lean sex machines

2. Men become Doctors not nurses even since the civil war, women have dominated the field of nursing, it may shock some people when a guy aspire to be a nurse, but it is awesome especially if he is super handsome.

3.all men are good at math so they are more likely to be technical fields

4. men don’t cook, clean or do laundry-– men who can cook, instantly become more attractive and mothers are actually teaching their sons to cook more nowadays. And if you watched the food network, you know they have a lot of guy chefs.

5. men are always in control and in charge– this one depends on the type of guy, maybe he likes to let his companion take charge and he like to watch.

and of course..the big one
6. ALL MEN ARE CHEATERS..
this one kills me and all women out there who believes in a somewhat fairytale love. It extinguish our hopes, and lead us to believe that if the men that they are with cheats on them, they should stay with that person cause the next guy is no better cause he’s a cheater too. This is so not true!

you talk like a white girl/guy response

I, and countless of other african americans have been teased for so call “talking white”, by our friends, strangers and sadly even our own family members. One of my very close friends said to me one day, ” you talk so white, the first time I heard you talk I thought you were one of those stuck up bitches.” Wow I was dead silent, and offended. And so she continued on but I tuned her out, not being able to think of a quick smart comeback. That day has always stick with me, as often I get the same remark time and time again. I have finally thought of five remarks to those people who say “You talk like a white girl/guy”.

1. what exactly does the stereotypical black person sound like, and please demonstrate.

2. colors can talk?

3. Not all “white” and black people sound the same, just like we all look different

4. Excuse me…

and if you really wat to be rude just tell them..

5. I don’t speak dumbass that’s all..

I mean I mix slang in some of the way I talk, to make up my own new words but there’s a time and place for everything, if you sound like an open lyric to a rap song none will understand you.

Heres a YouTube video I found on this subject its hilarious, and he explains it way better than I do:

his YouTube channel is this is a commentary look him up