A COLORED KINDA BLUES

 

(Image credit goes to the artist)

"Listen baby, people do funny things. Specially us. The cards are stacked against us and just trying to stay in the game, stay alive and in the game, makes us do funny things. Things we can't help. Things that make us hurt one another. We don't even know why. But look here, don't carry it inside and don't give it to nobody else. Try to understand it, but if you can't, just forget it and keep yourself strong, man."

                                               -Toni Morrison

The purpose of my blog is to shatter the chains that connect my bloodline to trauma. With each word that strokes each post, it is a direct blow to this generational tradition. This blog is my healing journey in hopes that my legacy will act as an antibiotic to heal my blood from the poison that was slowly killing it. My prayer is that my daughter and those after her may never taste it. I hope they are able to make a new tradition. A tradition of wholeness. A tradition of self. A tradition of love. This post may be a sensitive one. It may uproot a history long gone but trust me... 

the flame still burns. We are still experiencing the side effects of it. It laced our foundations. Now, it's time for mine to crumble. It is now time for me to take my recommended dosage of medicine. Here's to healing...

With that being said...

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!

"If you're black, stay back.

If you're brown, stick around.

If you're yellow, you're mellow.

If you're white, you're all right."

Have you ever heard of this poem? Well, imagine being measured by it since your conception.

God decided that it was time to shake my family tree to its core in 1982, the year I was born. Wait, before you go on thinking that I am being boastful, continue reading. I was an "oops" baby. I was not in the plans for my parents. I felt their soul in the womb. I felt their fear.  That feeling was so powerful, I tried to fight against it. I had to own my right to be on this earth. I had no idea that it would be the most difficult fight of all: The fight to exist.

DOSE #1

Growing up, I was reminded of the tone of my skin and hair texture on a consistent  basis. I had to stand in the shade or wear a hat to prevent my skin from getting darker. My hair was permed at a very young age because of its "unruly" behavior. I had to look a certain way. I had to act a certain way. I was told to feel a certain way. I was taught to ignore God's blueprint in order to assimilate the false narrative of inferiority. That is how I was made to feel...inferior...never good enough...unable to touch the warm embrace of being human. So to ease my wounds, I was told how pretty I was for a dark skinned girl. What is that supposed to mean? This statement only brought attention to how tainted my skin was. It made me feel like God made a mistake. Instead of power being planted and watered, insecurity was stroking my ego. This trickled down into every aspect of my life, ranging from childhood crushes, friendships, school, and family circle. In fact, it was my foundation. My chocolate skin was never pretty enough to stand on its own merits. My sun kissed garment was never acceptable as the preferred outfit of choice. My golden radiance was never given credit for illuminating true power in the world. It was simply erased and counted as void. The sun looked into my eyes and saw God. So why was I treated like I was the image of Satan?

DOSE #2

The slave auction block represented the end of life as we knew it. We are still suffering from the consequences of standing on that cold piece of slab. The pain of our fore-parents has taught us that Separate means Survival. Growing up in Mississippi really made me realize that no matter how slow or rapid the world is changing, we will never be allowed to walk off of that auction block....

Sometimes, I went  to work with my grandmother as she took care of a white family, who claimed that she was a part of their family, but never treated her as such. Day after day, I watched her tirelessly scrub the floors on her hands and knees, take care of their spoiled a** children while making sure their lives were as comfortable as possible. How did they treat her? Well, if she wanted to get paid, she had to step up on that auction block in order to take care of her family. Time off?? Not unless it was her funeral, but that's another story for another time.  Stay focused Lyric! Moving on...

There was an incident back then that opened my eyes to how being a dark skinned little girl was looked upon. While being at work with my grandmother, I often had the opportunity to play with the daughter of the oppressors, I meant the family that owned my grandmother... Wait! Let me try this again. I meant the people my grandmother worked for.  There! Is that better?! Don't answer that. I was being sarcastic. Anyway...

Back then, I didn't think about skin color. Sure, I knew there was a difference, but I had no idea that there existed a different treatment for the different shades. Well, at least until that day. So on this faithful day, while playing outside, she decided to fix her face to ask me: "Why is your skin so dark? I think you would be much prettier  with lighter skin. Don't you think so?"

No, really! She really did ask me this. I can't make this stuff up. Listen, I just stood there...frozen in time. I didn't know how to react. What I did know was how I felt. I felt angry and scared. Her appearance suddenly changed. Instead of seeing a sweet, innocent, and playful playmate...I saw evil in her eyes. These words were always spoken by her. I was just too blind and trusting to hear them. She was taught how to say that. She was raised to portray superiority over the help just like her parents. This was a rude awakening for me. The question was: Would I submit in the same fashion as my grandmother? Or would I resist and stand in my rightful position of being human? So, you want to know if I told my grandmother about what happened right? No, I didn't! I kept this from her because I recognized the fear in her eyes as my very own. I didn't want to add to her pain by making trouble for her. I didn't want to be a threat to her livelihood that fed our family. But...

I did something else that day. I vowed to never allow anyone to make me feel like I am nothing.

DOSE #3

The experience I'm about to share with you still burns to this very day. In junior high, I was a very shy and quiet teenager (depending on who you ask lol). I was nowhere near the popular table. I wasn't the type to get picked by the cute guys. To be honest, they never even glanced my way. One day, all of this changed with just a simple wink from the eye of the most attractive guy I had ever seen. My crush!! Every time we crossed paths in the hallway, he would smile and give me a gentle push. During lunch, he would save a spot in line for me. After school, he would wait for me outside by the front entrance to walk me to my bus. He was a very good guy, so I thought. On one of those days, my heart was shattered into a million pieces.

When I stepped off of the bus, there he was! Standing there with a model smile, standing against the wall while looking in my direction. As I started to walk towards him, he held out his hand to grab mine. As we were walking in the school, hand in hand, he leaned in close to me and whispered those sweet words that I was praying to hear: "I like you".

I whispered back, "I like you too!"  He smiled and told me that he would meet me in the cafeteria during lunch. I smiled and said okay. Now, doesn't that sound like a blooming romance? Let me burst your bubble real quick. Keep reading...

It was around the third period when my dream turned into a nightmare. As I was getting my book out of my locker, I heard some girls giggling. I closed my locker door and saw three light skinned girls standing beside me. Remember the scene from the movie Juice when Q was getting a book out of his locker and when he closed the locker door, Bishop was standing there? Yeah, it was just like that! They just stared at me. I said hello, put my book in my backpack, and turned around to walk away. As I was walking away, I heard one of them say, "Is D your boyfriend? Before I could turn around to answer, she proceeded to say, "Of course not! He could never like a nappy headed girl like you. Besides, your dark skin is probably scaring him away."

I turned around and told her to stop telling lies. "If he didn't like me, he wouldn't walk me to class, hold my hand, or eat lunch with me. You're trippin!" I said. She then went on to say,"He is just using you. He doesn't like you. No boy likes you."  I didn't respond. I just turned around and kept walking. Those words were playing on repeat in my mind.

Lunch time arrived. I walked into the cafeteria and went straight to my special place, in front of him in the lunch line. But to my surprise, he wasn't there. I looked around to see where he was. I found him sitting at the table with his friends, laughing and joking around. As I began to walk over to say hi, three familiar faces were heading in the same direction. They made it there before I did, and of course, sat down at D's table. I became nervous and had thoughts of turning around, but I fought that urge and continued walking towards them. I said hi to everyone. Then one of the guys said, "Hey D, why don't you scoot over and let your girlfriend sit down."  He looked at me with disgust in his eyes and said, "Shut up! She is not my girlfriend. I don't even like dark skinned girls. They are too ugly for me."

You won't believe what he does next! He leaned over to homegirl who was at my locker earlier and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. "This is my girl right here."

I was mortified! All I could do was get out of there as fast as I could. As soon as I reached the hallway, I leaned against the wall and cried harder than I have ever cried before. After that dreadful day, I never looked in his direction again. Well, in the direction of anyone ever again...at least for a while anyway. That day, I learned the true meaning of being "color struck". 

FINAL DOSE

I experienced these moments alone. There was no one to comfort me. There was no one to wipe my tears away. I felt misunderstood, not just by others, but I misunderstood myself. Toni Cade Bambara said, "Revolution begins with self, in the self. The individual, the basic revolutionary unit, must be purged of poison and lies that assault the ego and threaten the heart."

I had to discover that beautiful woman who God created. I was blessed to find her and as I looked lovingly into her tear stained eyes...

I whispered, "I just want to love you."

She looked back at me and smiled as we both backed away from the mirror. I had to discover who she was before the world told her who she should be. I had to caress every flaw and reclaim them as my own. I was able to see the beauty in them. I was able to see the beauty in her. I was able to see the beauty in us...

Self love at its finest baby...

Until next time,  when we learn, recognize, and accept who we are...we are able to fully embrace and stand in our power for generations to come. You are our Creator's greatest body of work. Your mind, body, and spirit works together in unison to a rhythmic flow that gives the world its heartbeat. Before we can heal the world, we have to start with ourselves. In order to heal, we have to know who we are healing. So keep this in mind: How Do I view myself? I love you!

Peace and Love,

Courtney "Lyric" Morton

Facebook: Lyric's Blues

Instagram: @Vintagewithsoul_

Email: Lyricisspeaking@gmail.com