MISCHIEF MANAGED

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"Stop telling God how big your problems are and start telling your problems how big your God is."

I'm Sty and I have a good head on my shoulders.

what's your ethnic makeup?

Jul 15, 2009 - 11:06 AM

" SLIP OF THE TOUNGE "

a poem by Adriel Luis.

dopest shit I've ever heard, true.

My glares burn through her.

And I'm sure that such actions aren't foreign to her

because the essence of her beaty is, well, the essence of beauty.

And in the presence of this higher being,

the weakness of my masculinity kicks in,

causing me to personify my wannabe big-baller, shot-caller,

God's gift to the female species with shiny suit wrapping rapping like,

" Ayo, what's crackin' shorty? How you livin'? What's yo sign, what's yo size? I dig ya style, yo. "

Now, this girl was no fool.

She gives me a dirty look with the quickness like,

" Boy, you must be stupid. "

So I'm looking at myself like,

" Boy, you must be stupid. "

But looking upon her, I am kinda feelin' her style.

So I try again.

But instead of addressing her properly,

I blurt out one of my fake-ass, playalistic lines like,

" Girl .. you must be a traffic ticket. 'Cause you got 'fine' written all over you! "

Now, she's trying to leave and I'm trying to keep her here.

And so at a final attempt, I utter,

" G i r l, w h a t i s y o e t h n i c m a k e u p? "

At this point, her glare was scorching through me,

and somehow she manages to make her brown eyes

resemble some kinda brown fire or something.

But there's no 'snap' or 'head movement',

no 'palm-to-the-face', 'click-of-the-tounge', 'middle finger',

'roll-of-the-eyes', 'twist-of-lips', or 'girl-power chant'.

She just glares through me with these burning eyes

and her gaze grabs you by the throat.

And she says, " Ethnic makeup? "

She says, " First of all, makeup's just an anglicized, colonized, commodofied utility

that my sister's have been programmed to consume,

forcing them to cover up their natural state

in order to immitate what another sister looks like in her natural state

because people keep telling her

that the other sister's natural state is more beautiful

than the first sister's natural state.

At the same time,

the other sister isn't even in her natural state,

because she's trying to immitate yet another sister,

so in actuality, the natural state that the first sister's trying to immitate

wasn't even natural in the first place. "

Now I'm thinking, " DAMN! This girl's kickin' knowledge! "

But meanwhile, she keeps spitting on it like,

" Fine. I'll tell you about my 'ethnic makeup'.

I wear foundation,

but not that powdery stuff.

I wear the foundation laid by my indigenous people.

It's that foundation that makes it so that past being globalized,

I can still vocalize with confidence that I know where my roots are.

I wear this foundation, not upon my face, but within my soul.

And I take this from my ancestors

because I'll be damned if I ever let an European or American corporation

tell me what my foundation

should look like. "

" I wear lipstick.

For my lips stick to the ears of men,

so they can experience in surround sound my screams of agony,

with each lash of rulers, measuring tape, and scales,

as if my waistline and weight are inversely proportional to my value as a human being.

See my lips, they stick, but not together.

Rather, they flail open with flames to burn down this culture that once kept them shut.

Now, I don't mess with eyeshadow.

But my eyes shadow over this time where you've gone at ends to keep me blind.

But you can't cover my eyes, look into them.

My eyes foreshadow change.

My eyes foreshadow light.

And I'm not into hair dyeing.

But I'm here, dying, because this oppression won't get out of my hair.

I have these highlights.

They are highlights of my past atrocities.

They form this oppression I can't wash off.

It tangles around my mind, and twists and braids me in layers,

this oppression manifests,

it's stressing so that even though I don't colour my hair,

in a couple of years, it'll look like I dyed it grey.

So what's my 'ethnic makeup'?

I don't have any.

Because your ethnicity isn't something you can just make up.

And as for that shit my sisters paint on their faces, that's not make-up.

It's make-believe. "

I can't seem to look at her.

And I'm sure that such actions aren't foreign to her

because the expression on her face

shows that she knows that my mind is in a trance.

As her footsteps fade, my ego is left in crutches.

And rejection never sounded so sweet.