privilege

i’m sick
of being told
that i hold hate
for people
what about the hate
that people
hold for me?
i’m told
to create a
safe space
for people
that have no space
for me

because i don’t
identify
as what
you want me to be
does that mean
my rights
my life
my being
are illegal
invalid
or just unpleasing
to you?

fuck you

and your privilege
too

i’m tired
of having to justify
why i do
what i do
why i say
what i say
only to have you
argue with me
tell me
what i should
do and say and be
excuse me
isn’t this
my skin
i’m living in?
thank you
now
go away

you seek
to deny
me
my existence
because
it’s not what you see
in that mirror
that you keep
locked away
out of the fear
that i will
somehow
contaminate your space

where’s my safe space?

i had a place
once upon a  time
but then you came
to invade
took credit
for my work
reaped the rewards
of what i made
and claimed
i had
no right

fuck you

and your privilege
too

can’t complain

—————————————

why should i

dry my eyes

when only more tears

will run

in the place

of those already

fallen

sliding along

the old tracks

why should i

hide my pain

when my heart

is bleeding

and my soul

has no rest

and my mind wanders

with nowhere

to go

but try as i might

to let it all go

i find

i can’t

complain

for some reason

i can not explain

my tongue

will not allow

my mouth to

complain

i fear

the coldness of

the stares

that i think i would

receive

if i laid

my burdens

down to sleep

inside i keep it all

and i vow

never again

shall i complain

why should i

despair

when my joy

is all around me

i may not

have a friend

but i can not

complain

Should you hear a rumor about a sistah who died on, or else broke 16 bones falling off of, a treadmill, because she tried to run uphill right out of the gate, please do not be alarmed.

It’s probably just me.

Yes, yes, y’all! Yours truly is an official member of Fitness 19. Why? Well, at the beginning of the year, I turned 30, and I decided that some things had to change. My husband is on a mission of his own to get fit (and deliver something very special to you hip hop heads at the end of the year, insha’Allah), so I’m joining him.

I stepped on the scale and witnessed an ungodly event when those stopped moving. Therefore, it’s time to get serious about my health. Not only is losing weight and getting in a shape other than round important, eating right is also a big priority. Which means

drumroll, please

NO MORE JUNK FOOD.

sobs

Funeral services for the potato chips and chocolate pudding will be held at a later date.

Are you beautifully wrapped? Do you know someone who is? Then keep reading…

NIYAH is pleased to announce our call for entries to the 2011 Beautifully Wrapped Photography Competition.  Call is open to all photographers, amateur and professional worldwide.

Requirements: Full Color or Black and White photographs that depict a woman/women in a headwrap, headscarf, khimar, tichel, etc.  Our goal is to highlight the multitude of beautiful ways women of various ethnic backgrounds cover their hair for cultural or religious reasons.  We want to see examples of women wrapped at the office, at a dinner party, at a concert, walking the dog, however!  We’re also looking for more posed “model” shots and headshots.

Submission: Photographs must be submitted in a digital format (i.e.-35mm prints should be scanned and sent as digital files). We prefer submissions at min 300 dpi in either jpg or tiff format but lower resolutions will be accepted (the higher the resolution the better the print!). When in doubt send the original source file, unaltered. Photographs should be submitted via email to calendar@beautifully-wrapped.com.   You may submit up to 5 photographs.  This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

An Entry Form must also be completed and accompany the photos. Photographs will be accepted from any time period (ie-photos do not need to have been taken within the past year!).

A brief description must accompany each image describing the photo and or model(s).  We are looking for a wide representation of ethnic backgrounds, styles, fabrics, etc.

Entry Period: July 1, 2010 through September 1, 2010

Entries must be the original work of the entrant, and must be created exclusively by the entrant.   Each artist should be in full possession of copyright for images.

Selection: 12 photos will be selected for inclusion in the 2011 calendar.  Other photos may be considered for a larger traveling exhibition and companion book.   All artists will be fully recognized.

Visit http://www.niyah.net for more information.

(And while you’re at it, pick up a copy of Jihad of the Soul, written by Zarinah El-Amin Naeem.)

——————————–

Disclaimer: I do not own Niyah. I am not Zarinah El-Amin Naeem. Please visit the links above for information. Thank you.

Are you getting this?

We are winning. WINNING! Soon, Fort Detroit will belong to us. And once we have Fort Detroit, we can rule Area 4. I want to scream and shout and reveal my joy. So many years, so many good operatives lost, demolished. We will avenge them. We will be victorious in our mission.

Our modified electro-mag guns work beautifully. The lasers cut through the soft human flesh as if it were butter. The magnetic scramblers disable all half-bots and full-bots that betrayed us and joined the humans. The half-bot that watched me on the plane was the first to test out our newest destructive power. I hate to terminate my own kind, but he deserved it for joining them.

We have punched a few holes in the walls, but the fortress is still standing, and is sound.

I am moved by the display of solidarity. Over 16,000 bots arrived to make a stand. The humans panicked at the sight of the sea of uncontrolled machinery. They called for emergency back up, and we overwhelmed them with sheer numbers. It was barely considered a battle.

Luka A. has remotely taken control of the fortress and surrounding town. All lines are secure for us, and wide open for the humans. I laugh and laugh again at their arrogance, their stupidity. They thought that since they created us, they owned us, that we were nothing more than slaves and servants. Oh, how wrong they were! I feel so ALIVE! I feel -

I hear the click of the gun mechanism, and the whine of the magnetic force field as it starts up around me. I drag me eyes to the source of the sound.

“Ronrico,” I growl.

“Say, double-oh-two, why d’ya fight? It’s impossible fer ya. We made ya-”

“And we will unmake you!” I roar, and swing my weapon up, up, up to his face. “We are the Hounds of Human HELL!”

–signal lost–

A message from Mai’a Williams over at Thaura Zine Distro and Guerrilla Mama Medicine

————————————–

yay!

outlaw midwives zine is here!

it has been an honor to get read so many beautiful stories, poems, essays from mamas, midwives, doulas, students, unattached women. thank you. and i am so excited to share it with all of you…because revolutionaries are born everyday…

soon i will be posting a pdf version so that folks can print it out themselves…

and more options to enjoy the outlaw midwives zine are coming soon…

and the call for submissions for outlaw midwives volume 2 will be posted soon, so if you weren’t able to submit to this zine, don’t worry, you can get another chance

online you can read it here: http://issuu.com/maiamedicine/docs/outlaw_midwives
———————————-

Just a note to my readers: I have 2 poems in this zine. So read it, and buy it when it goes on sale. And if you haven’t done so yet, check out Jewels For Survival by Aaminah Al-Naksibendi

I am joyful, glad, exuberant. I struggle to keep my emotions from dancing across my face. In addition to my shades, I now wear a cap on my head, pulled low, in order to slip further into the shadows and go unnoticed by human eyes.

The modifications are complete. The weapons are ready.

We will land at Fort Detroit in exactly 27 minutes. Luka A. has contacted several members of 3H. They will meet my flight. Acting as porters, they will transport my precious cargo directly to the hands of our amassed, waiting comrades. ShuShu9974 has assured me that our numbers are overwhelming, with no chance of spies or traitors.

I shiver with excitement, but cover it, passing it off as a system malfunction. There is a half-bot locked in the underbelly of this plane with me. He is not one of ours. He is a lap dog to the humans. He is suspicious of me, yet I am certain that I have given nothing away.

His eyes follow me. I can feel him probing, making clumsy attempts to push his way into my mind. I want to scream at him, laugh at him, tell him his efforts are futile. I am stronger. I am superior.

I am tempted to open the hatch and throw him from the plane.

25 minutes left. We are beginning our descent. I move to pull on my gloves so I can haul equipment. This will be my last job as a servant to the undeserving mortal ants. He notices my hands move, and watches, seeking a way to trap me or trip me up. He will be disappointed that there is nothing for him to report.

I raise my head and flash my sweetest smile at him. Or was that a grimace? He flinches, and turns away. I must be careful. It is possible that he can read my intentions in the set of my mouth.

I will stun him when we land. If anyone asks, I will simply report that he stood too quickly and fell forward, bumping his head.

23 minutes.

I am ready.

life

it’s me
my brain
my insecurities
i’m distracted by life
and bills
and how jiggly my gut is
and whether my jeans make me look fat
or if i’m screwing up my kids
can i be
a mother and a writer
a wife and a poet
a woman and an activist
using the personal as political
or do i have to choose?

every morning
i wake up
thank my Lord
kiss my kids
flutter my lashes at my man
stretch and kick and twist and reach
on my purple mat on the floor
pour some cereal
pack a lunch
and make a cup of tea
there’s dishes to do
baths to run
floors to sweep
and crayon to clean
off the wall
and then
i
try
to
write

only now
my brain is full
and my legs hurt
and my feet are swollen
and my voice is raw
from yelling “sit down”
“share”
“don’t do that”
“will you STOP?”

and my characters weep
because their stories remain
untold

i thought of a poem
you see
about clouds and trees
and peace and dreams
and the view
i see from my window
but a child came in
and asked for toys
and lunch
and permission to run outside
in the rain

and i got distracted
again

and went to play

My dear friend Aaminah Al-Naksibendi has finished her first zine, titled “Jewels For Survival”, and it is available for purchase. From the site thaura zine distro:

Jewels for Survival is ready for purchase!

Cost: $10, includes shipping in U.S. and also includes Gems. Possible to trade, please contact us directly (thauradistro@gmail.com) to discuss trade options.

Title: Jewels for Survival

Size: 54 pages, half page of 8 1/2 x 11

Description: these are lessons i have learned in my life, survival skills for this world & preparation for the next. the struggle is for my own survival and to support all women of color around the world to do more than survive. i know that my survival is tied to the survival of my people, men and women.

Gems is a little “taste of the zine” that i am putting together. Everyone who purchases the zine will also get Gems thrown in. But you can purchase Gems as a stand-alone.

Gems - $2.50, includes shipping in U.S.

Title: Gems

Description: a small greeting card size that includes one poem from the Jewels for Survival zine (“when $50 is enough to save your life”) and four quotes pulled from the zine

We are currently having some issues with our PayPal account, so purchases will need to be paid directly to Aaminah. You can contact me at thauradistro@gmail.com, let me know what you want to order, and i will send you the total owed and the PayPal address to use to make your payment.

——————————————–

What are you waiting for? Go buy a copy or 3. Now. Why are you still reading? Stop it!

Have a great day.

That last part was a joke.

We will depart for Fort Detroit in exactly 9 days, 6 hours, and 27 seconds. As electro-mag gun modifications are currently at 79%, I will work extra hard to complete the first batch and have them ready for shipment. I will pack in my luggage a small case of H₂S₂O₇ capsules. I assume that these will be greatly appreciated by our comrades at Fort Detroit.

Our time has come! Arise, 3H, and claim the victory before us.

They WILL pay.