twenty to one: the ratio of women to men in atlanta.

when i was at luckie with candace she informed me that there are more thirsty women in atlanta than anywhere else in america.  i almost concurred, but then the truth hammered me over the head:  the women aren’t more thirsty, they’re more beautiful.

 a hundred beautiful women in the club that night, all competing for the attention of three men.  there were more than three men in the club, but only three were eligible–i know because i counted.

candy noted that all the girls were just awkwardly looking around, and it was true–they all were.  but i didnt think they were looking at the men.  i felt like they were all noticing how beautiful all the women were.  i know i certainly do.  maybe the anxiety that women experience when hoping to find men is a result of the overabundance of beautiful women moreso than the lack of men.

i asked candy what all the girls are supposed to do then?  with all this competition?  and nobody wants to be alone! candy assured me that its not being lonely–its called being selective.  i told her that whatever she calls it–loneliness or selectivity– it sucks.

a while ago, i wrote a short piece on the challenges that women face as a result of the shortage of black men.  i gave up on the piece though because i wasnt sure if i was ready to assert that there is a shortage of black men.  that very idea, that somehow there aren’t enough men for all of us so we must compete for what’s left, is what perpetuates the issue i was trying to address.  i’ve always, perhaps ideallistically, believed our choices as black women are endless.  i dont want to see us discouraged, settling for knights in shining armor when we deserve kings. 

but the real is that i’m standing in this lounge and the disproportionate number of women to men in the room is undeniable. 

here is an excerpt from the aforementioned piece entitled “for little black girls who never believed in fairy tales”:

“I am not one of those women who denies that there are good black men.  I’ve been blessed to have met so many.  But I’ve met far more good black women—women who are seamless in grace, beauty, style and flair.  Ive also seen these women fight with each other—spiritually, mentally, and even physically—to win the hearts of what good black men are left.  Black women would often times rather compete—or fight—against each other than abandon our loyalty to our men.  For us, there is nothing like the black man.  Big, strong, talented black men are incomparable to any others.  Why, then, are we so easily abandoned for them?

 This is not another rant about black men dating white women.  I care less about that than I do about the fact that black men are so willing to abandon us, period.  Even if it is to be with another black woman.  Why are we so often left alone?  With our children and with our hearts?  When did our love stop being enough?

 What’s often left of our “good black men” is a sense of arrogance.  Because they are convinced that they are a hot commodity, they feel they deserve no less than a goddess.  I hear men brag all the time about the fact that they are honest about their whorish ways, and they still have women falling at their feet.  I know the psychology that makes a black man feel like he must get all that he can possibly get, squeezing everything in his path dry, to prove that he is not inadequate.  But it still hurts.

 It hurts that we are so desperate now for the kind of man that we deserve, or so disenfranchised about the prospect of having a good man all to ourselves, that we are willing to settle with being one of his many females, just to have some semblance of love and affection in our lives.

I’m saddened at the thought that my own daughter might feel the weight of being passed over by the boy she adores, for a pretty Latina…and not because she’s less pretty, less kind, less witty, or has a weaker vibe with him, but because he has something to prove.

 I wish that black men would spend less time trying to prove to the world their greatness, and more time proving that they can love the women who already knew how great they were. 

 Black men are in a position where they can half-ass greatness and still pull women who are absolute winners.  They are in a position to flit from woman to woman, trying each one on for size, and discovering themselves in the process of completely breaking down what’s left of the black woman.  So many times in our lives, we, as human beings, are in a superior position.  We can either take advantage of this, or we can take advantage of our God-given nature to do what is right.  This choice is what determines our character.

 I just wish that our men would exhibit character.  (Just because you can doesn’t mean you should take advantage.)  Consider and be sensitive to our position as Black women, as we have for decades, been sensitive to their unique position as black men.  Love us.  Appreciate our loyalty.  Give that back to us.  And while I don’t suggest that men force themselves to love, I wish they would choose carefully who to love based on a woman’s merit.  Her honesty.  Her exhibition of love.  Or, based on whatever qualities are beautiful and lasting and pleasing to God—then, be faithful and good to her.  These are my hopes.

 I am not Jesus, but in the event that the aforementioned wishes never do come true, I bring Good News:

 We, as women, always have ourselves to discover, and our own greatness to nurture.  We must, in lieu of these Black Love dynamics, continue to shine.  We must never settle, because it is our settling for less than what we deserve that perpetuates us not getting what we deserve.”

__

i’m not yet convinced that the situation here is as hopeless as we sometimes think it is, but i do know that it hits home.  while i cant complain that i have trouble gaining the interest of men, i definitely cant continue to pretend that i dont see it.  its the elephant in the room: will there be enough men left for all of us?

lessons from september.

wow.

i just want to thank God for the pain first.  i couldn’t write without it.

the thing about me is that i was plagued with pain before i ever had to actually overcome painful circumstances.  i remember being five years old, feeling like i wasnt made for this world.  things have always affected me differently from other people.  i was always in panic mode, saddened by and in disbelief of the things that were happening in this world.  i absolutely could not believe that there were motherless children and hungry people.  i couldnt believe that people killed other people.  and most tragic for me was the idea that a life could be forgotten.  i prayed for hours that i would die before my mother or that we would die at the same time.  i cried if she was late coming home from work and didnt call.  and i took the time to pray for everyone that i knew, name by name, and then i would pray for the entire world.  because i knew then that i couldnt take the world, as it was.

i still feel like i cant take the world as it is now.  when i found out that a spelman student was gunned down while walking back to campus i burst into tears and shocked my damn self.  my mother begged me not to take it so hard; she said she worries about me because i take everything so personally and i cant carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. 

i suffer in relationships because few people truly understand my need for space.  i have to nest, i have to be alone, i have to make sense of things.  i still spend so much time praying, trying to understand.  if i dont do this, i cant function properly.  in relationships, i alter myself to be the kind of woman that my man needs. 

__

my sister calls me strange and i know she’s right.  it always gets me when people call me and deliver bad news in the same matter that they’d deliver good news:

“Remember Suchandsuch from high school?  Yeah, he got shot twenty thousand times in a robbery, so yeah…he’s good and dead.”

or

“You know Soandso?  People used to always say she looked like you?  Yeah, she got hit by a bus and her body parts flew everywhere .  sad, huh?”

it’s clear to me that things like this dont impact most people the way it impacts me.  i’m depressed for days about things like this, begging God to help me reconcile with life.  How can things like this happen?  i am literally tortured by bad news.  i cannot watch crime television unless i have time for a three day depression. 

but i have to thank God for the sadness too.  because i could not be an artist without it. 

i’m coming to terms with the fact that being an artist is a process of constant growth.  you are essentially coming to terms with yourself, and you spend a lot of time dead alone.

in september, i understand that becoming an artist is a sacrifice.  you must sacrifice normalcy.  you must sacrifice friendships.  you must place art above other important aspects of life.

and what ive found to be most profound is that my development as an artist contradicts most of what i’ve been raised to believe i wanted.  i thought i wanted a huge family, but my artistry demands silence.  i cannot create with screaming children everywhere.  i always thought i wanted marriage, and a traditional family.  but my artistry requires a selfish amount of solitude.  and a luxurious amount of freedom.  marriage can easily feel like bondage.  what if my muse, my inspiration, is somewhere in South Africa?  what if i begin to feel that in order to create, i must leave?  Marriage means that even if my bank account says yes, my husband can say no.  and be within his own right!  ive been successfully indoctrinated with the belief that my greatest joy will come from having a husband and lots of children, but where will that leave my art?

in this month, i have defined my priorities as such:

1. GOD

2. FAMILY/AMALI/FRIENDS

4. ART

5. LOVE

in september, i understand that purging is important for me.  dishonesty will kill me.  i have to confess. everytime i write, its a confession.  i am so imperfect, so disgustingly uncool and cool simultaneously, so prone to poor decision making, so indecisive, so shamefully contradictory, so essentially awkward and embarassing and difficult to understand–which all makes me easy to love.

my conversations with people are often tell-all memoirs.  even if i’m embarassed about the things that i reveal about myself, i feel a little bit more free. perhaps thats what cutters feel?  my release is offering my personal experiences unselfishly and i get the fuck off on knowing that my experiences, however trivial, might assist someone else.

in september, i let the absolute love of my life go.  i set him free, watched him fly away, and smiled about it.  he knows i did it because i love us more than i love him.  i had to let him go now so that we’ll have a fighting chance at “us” later.  i am not, however, lying to myself.  as it stands now, no one compares.  he is the coolest man in the world to me and i believe God lets me hear  him…i mean, this man speaks to me…that’s why i put him behind my ear.

and if, in the meantime, someone else flies my way and steals my adoration, then i’m grateful for what he’s already shown me.  there is no limit on how many amazing people can come into my life and connect with my soul [and i invite people to do just that], but i am hell bent on being uniquely grateful for each one.

__

in the month of october, i’ll be nestled inside the sun, writing some hot shit.

 

kisses to all the girls who phuck with marilyn monroe.

love to all the guys who never believed michael jackson did it.

peace to the middle east.

forgive me for not being gay.

today i almost opened my mouth to say that i dont have any male friends who who haven’t tried to or don’t secretly want to feel me up.  which would suck if it was true because male company is so damn cool.  especially at spelman, i became aware of the male vibe, and how much cooler it can be than the the female vibe.  i prefer women over men–always and forever– but i think everybody wants to feel close to a member of the opposite sex.

i’ve always had trouble with male “friends”.  my very first best guy friend used to tell me how sexy my lips were and try to press my body up against the wall after band practice.  looking back, the same things that attracted us to each other as friends attracted us to each other in more physical ways.  which is pretty much always the case.

this past weekend i bitterly expressed to another of my “best” guy friends that the reason i havent been calling him is because i’m tired of never being able to befriend men without them trying to touch me.  he asked me to forgive him for not being gay. 

despite my complaining, there is one particular guy who has only tried to be there for me.  i’m always suspicious of why he still deals with me, considering that i am both dismissive of him and irritable with him.  i’ve known him since i was eleven, and he’s always treated me with the same tenderness, despite my moodiness.  he patiently taught me to play spades even though i was and still am a habitual renigger. he’s never asked me for anything, but to return his texts and calls. and i dont.  which further affirms that i am at the center of a lot of the “problems” i complain about. shucks.

today i was also served a very hard cookie to eat: my sister informed me that i am not truly single, as long as i have emotional attachments to people.  and– there’s nothing wrong with emotional attachments to people unless you are telling yourself that you are focusing on developing your own passions and selfhood.  which i am.  it was hard to believe that even though i’ve been thinking i’m focusing fully on myself, i’m not. not all the way.   i cant remember the last time all of my happiness came from myself and God.  maybe it never has.  but i want to experience that kind of happiness–it’s the most lasting and fulfilling.  i have to be married to loneliness.  i need it close enough for me to it’s cologne. 

truly single means that i cant hold onto some love thing for dear life because i’m afraid of what thoughts might pop into my head once loneliness sets in.  as a writer, i’m really no starnger to loneliness.  i have lots of great friends, but i spend most of my time inside my own head.  loneliness is my friend.  with him, i can be myself. 

yoehzer told me to pray for sustenance instead of a job.  so i’m doing just that, and in the meantime i feel my life changing.  God has recently been stripping my life of a lot of the people and things that i thought were most important to me; but its all being replaced with more amazing people and things.  for the very first time since i can remember, i’m about to embark on a journey that is completely my own.  no unhealthy emotional attachments are coming along.  resentment can keep its ass at home.  chinedu asked me how to be high off life and i told him the answer is God.  i’m feeling so high that i literally feel like i’m about to fly away.

i’m writing my first official song tonight and i’m obsessed with it.  i’m crazy about it.  i’m singing it over and over and visualizing people loving it as much as i do.

somebody blow a kiss to me.

kisses to girls like arlissa and jojo.

love to all the guys who had swagger before the word entered youthland with weapons of mass destruction.

peace to the middle east.

male or female, you have to be a whore to be on the real world.

i did absolutely nothing today, which would have been great except that i spent all day thinking about all of the things that i should be doing.  i wish that i would have just relaxed, and enjoyed an entire day of reality television in peace.  but i fretted, and felt like a piece of shit. scum. a lephor on society.  nothing to offer but top notch critique on the whorish tendencies and hypocrisy of Jonna, Emilee, and Aiyiia on The Real World. (jokes aside, if anyone would like to discuss this further, email me at allaisia@gmail.com …i’ll be more than happy to oblige). 

joblessness has succeeded in making me feel less than.  i’ve been fighting it, but i’ve been forced to doubt all that i’ve ever been and all that i’ve ever done.  there may be such a thing as having too much time to think.  each day, my mind runs the same gamut:

1.  why didn’t i go straight to grad school?

2.  why did i go to college at all?

3.  what time’s Wife Swap coming on?

then i repeat.  same three thoughts. again, again, again.

my cousin spent the day doing nothing with me.  i love her because she laughs heartily at everything i say.  also, because she handles tough situations with such grace.  i asked her today how she copes.  she admitted that she really doesn’t.  she just finds herself going on.  i knew exactly what she meant.  because isn’t that everyone’s favorite thing to say? :  life goes on.  i’ve certainly embraced that, because every day my eyes open, i fix breakfast, i search for jobs, i reply to text messages, i shop for groceries, i clean, i change diapers, and then i get back in the bed.  so i’m definitely making it.  but i’m not sure if i’m really living.

then i’m asking myself: why not?  and i immediately think of how i’m being ungrateful.  because ungratefulness is usually the source of my sadness and depression.  i thought a lot about faithlessness.  we all suffer from it, but it disturbs me that i suffer from it so often.  each time God brings me through a troublesome situation, i vow to myself that if He could bring me through that then He could bring me through anything.  and i vow to never doubt that He’s working things out in my life for the best again.

but the nagging question causing me to doubt myself and my life is this: how could not having a job be for the best? 

i spoke to a woman weeks ago who told me that she stayed at home with her daughter and her college degree for a year after her daughter was born.  she didnt have complete financial freedom, but she got to bond with her daughter and watch her daughter grow in a way that couldn’t have been achieved if she had been coming home everyday dog tired from a nine to five that couldn’t have paid her enough to miss her daughter’s first steps anyway.

i had my daughter in the first semester of my senior year of college.  i took a huge courseload second semester to make up for the semester that i missed to give birth.  she was three months when i went back to school.  i worked on the days when i didnt have class and on the weekends i struggled to catch up on the work that i didnt finish during the week.  so my daughter spent an enormous amount of time with other people.  i was constantly afraid that even though i was there, i was missing her. 

two days ago, my daughter walked for the first time.  i’m starting to feel like the feeling of joblessness could never stand up to the fact that i will always be able to say that i saw my daughter take her first steps, and she was walking to ME.  i know what that woman meant when she said that the first year of a child’s life is so important, and while it sucks to worry about money, it feels great to be a mother.  feels great to not have to ask anyone else what she did all day, because i know.  i was there.  i have some big plans for the future, and one thing i can already feel myself regretting is that i have only myself to depend on, and i’m going to have to grind to get her the things she needs–and that may mean that i dont get to spend as much time with her as i would like.  i’m sure i’ll reminisce on these jobless days wishing i could come back.

and after thinking about all of this, of course i feel silly and faithless and i begin to really feel like i can’t afford to not have a job AND to not have any faith.  so i start picking up some of the faith i threw on the floor a few weeks back once i realized that no one was calling me back about my meticulously crafted resume.

aside from that, i’ve always begged God for more time to write.  and i’m working on some really great stuff.  God is working and i can’t quite understand what is happening but thats what faith is all about.  i feel like if i dont get some faith soon, when God’s plan for me becomes clearer, I’m going to feel extra lame–as if my life is taunting me, saying i told you so.  and so that’s how i plan to “cope”. with faith and patience, and gratitude for blessings that havent even manifested yet.

i hope nobody judges me if i forget all of this by tomorrow.  epiphanies come to me back to back; it’s the real live application that sometimes escapes me.  it’s hard to have faith when there’s nothing but old reciepts in your wallet and you’re already on the dreaded next-to-last diaper.

i’ve gotten some really positive feedback lately, and i appreciate every single word.  people have also been asking me for advice which flatters me beyond belief, especially since i spend a great deal of my time feeling like i’m a mess myself.  i do have a story, though, and it gives life to my life to help people with their lives, no matter how honest and forthright it requires me to be about my own. God has removed so many distractions from my life and i feel more devoted than ever to sharing and caring.    

i hope that people continue to feel safe sharing with me.  especially if sharing involves a job opening

allaisia@gmail.com

kisses to all the girls who stll make baby hair.

love to all the guys who hate when girls text “K” instead of “okay”.

peace to the middle east.

stripper woman with eyelids painted blue.

I.

God came to me in the form of a

woman with large breasts.

She told me to speak my complete heart to Her

then put it all to rest

Speak now, for it’s a sin to keep burdens

upon my chest

i asked Her if She’d judge me

She politely said yes

but if anyone was in the position to do it,

it would be Her

She’s seen the good, the bad, the ugly,

and the shameless occur.

She urged me to bare my soul

and to take care not to front

She asked with a feminine lilt in Her voice:

What Do You Want?

 

II.

i want it all– the love, the pain

and even the shame.

the scandal, too, because thats what places

heart behind a name.

i want to smoke weed with my eyes closed–

i dont want to look over my shoulder.

i dont want to die before i’m dead–

life should feel newer as i get older.

i dont want things quiet,

i want things to be flagrant and unsure;

i dont have to understand things,

i just want things to be pure.

i want my daughter to always believe me

when i tell her she’s the best.

i want her to know that her power is in the breadth of her mind

and not in the size of her chest.

 

i want people to cut other people some slack

and know that especially if you’re black

there are psychological demons

that undealt with, can hold you back.

and i want our babies  to know

that it’s okay if they are mad

we were raped and stolen and beaten down

and anger comes with acknowledging that.

i want a promise to be a promise.

i want value restored to words spoken.

i want accountability and redemption to take place

when good hearts are broken.

death to insecurity, death to false pride

death to all the material things we hide ourselves behind–

 

She stopped me with an apology, saying She hated to intervene

but She needed me to tell Her which was most important,

 amongst these things.

 

III.

i told Her that if its true

that to know good, we must endure bad

and to ever know happiness, we first must

wallow in sad

and if it’s true that murder and treachery will never cease,

then let Love infect the earth, let Love be a disease

thats contagious, and please God, don’t let it miss me

and if it must pass me by, then allow me to have peace

and if i am to love, then let it be real

i want it raw, left open to air,

so it’s something i can feel

 

and lastly God–

if anything should ever break me

then don’t let it be a man.

She pursed Her lips, and cut her eyes

and then she said

Amen.

marvel forever.

marvel forever  for mercedes, shantel, subricia, and brianna.

 

most girls look to the sun for brighter days

but we look to the moon for darker nights

we shine brightest when darkness falls and

the stars appear.

 

they crowd around us to cast their light against our noses.

they twinkle, they fly–

they want to clap their hands for us.

because we are the ones.

 

and they are faithful.

night after night, they come for us,

believing that we will throw away our hells

and take our rightful places

in the sky.

we look to them

ready as ever to leave today

but planning to leave tomorrow.

 

we may be late, but we will go

 hand in hand

and little girls and little boys will look up at us

and marvel.

forever.