Helter Skelter Blues... A letter to some of our sisters.

hĕl'tər-skĕl'tər)
adv.
1.In disorderly haste; confusedly; pell-mell.
2.Haphazardly.
adj.
1.Carelessly hurried and confused.
2.Haphazard.
n.
Turmoil; confusion

This piece is dedicated to a post I saw in Facebook.






Dear Black women the word is out.
The word is out that some of yall want to date others.
Yall changing up the format like a radio station,
pushing aside all of the brothers.
Just because some of yall have become bitter.
But the women I know and respect aint never been quitters.
So some of yall want to leave for greener gardens eh?
Pasty complexions lead to better directions?
Sleep with the children of the slavemasters.
Can only improve racial relations?
Of course, not!

But you have become beside yourself.
Allowing your past relationships to define yourself.
So now the future is painted with rainbow glows,
hand in hand, singing African folk songs.
But how can you sing in a strange land?
How can you love a strange man?
But I guess anything is possible.
If the Boston Celtics can trot out all Black starting roster,
yall can get your Asian, European, and Mexican swerve on.
Leaving me, means you leave you.
While you cling to the Oprahisms of life.
You can have it all.
Career and children.
Commitment and charity.
You can have it all.
All except me.

So while yall run to the border.
Run to the whiteman.
And to the all the Asians.
All of those who hate me.
Those who hate my dark skin.
Those who hate my presence.
Those who hate my music.
Those who hate my passion.
Those who hate my truth.

Thats what yall want?
Have your fill.
And when you are full of the sperm of the oppressors,
and the stench of their racist overtones toward your nephews, and uncles, and male kin.
Maybe you will swallow the pride of your life.
The lust of your eyes and the lust of your flesh.
The poor decisions of your choices make for backdrop fodder concerning your personal relationships.

Perhaps the pain you feel is too much.
So much so, that you feel safer with those who exploit you and I.
That is, needless to say a bit disturbing.
But do you sister...
When it is all said and done,
we both lose.
In the streets we were killing each other.
But now we are killing ourselves
by not wanting to be with ourselves.

I guess it is what it is.
Just dont expect me to like it.
Call me paranoid.
Call me crazy.
Just dont call me traitor.


With love,

Richard J Wright (2011)