She lay in the bed connected to wires
So unaware of what transpires
The steady beeps echo in the room
Visitors hoping she’ll wake up soon
She knew better but didn’t listen
To all the warnings she heard at school
She met a boy and went past kissing
She was caught up didn’t know what to do
She remembered the graphs and the charts
She read the books, this girl had smarts
But there was no lesson in addiction
No one to steer her in the right direction
She answered questions, aced her tests
The teacher was always impressed
With her intuition and determination
To finish school and go to graduation
It came up in almost every conversation
How college was going to change her life
She was on her own, a new destination
She knew that what she did was right
Then one night when her pulse was racing
The clothes peeled off and fell to the floor
They acted like time was wasting
Even though they had no where to go
She asked if he had brought some protection
Recalling lectures, she made that connection
He said yeah as he pulled out his erection
He wanted to feel her first, she gave no objection
She nodded in acceptance, he had her trust
She forgot her better judgment, gave into her lust
Not a good decision to make at that time
All she knew was that it felt so fine
And as they ended with the final culmination
The climax removed any hesitation
That one act would lead to many after that
Never thinking about the aftermath
Each one filled her with temptation
Never having that all important conversation
Are you clean? When was the last time you got tested?
Didn’t even know how many people that they slept with
Meanwhile she was breading a virus
The one that has no cure
And now here she lies with the wires
Her body fighting hard to endure
Completely unaware of the mistakes she made
She won’t get a chance to tell her story
Her family and friends just sit here and wait
They know if she was awake she’d be sorry
That next time she wouldn’t hesitate
She would use the protection she learned about
She would ask questions and change her fate
The sex she could do without
Who will tell the guys who don’t know about the sickness?
They go on with their lives infecting those who know less
About the girl in a hospital bed
At the age of nineteen she’ll be dead
It's raining outside. It's the first summer-like rain of the year. The kind of rain that is torrential, according to channel 6 weather, but when you walk outside you can feel the warm moisture of drops hitting hot concrete. It's the kind of rain that wets the earth, without changing the heat of the sun through the clouds. It's a rain that makes you want to walk without an umbrella, or ride on your bike next to that certain someone wearing white t-shirts that cling to your bodies as the water saturates the fabric, becoming less like clothes and more like skin. This is the rain that makes strangers smile knowingly at each other as they pass because they're all walking in puddles that have pooled in their shoes. The kind of rain that if you're thoughtful enough to have an umbrella, only keeps you dry from your shoulders up. Rain that pounds loudly on your windowsill followed by the loud clap of thunder that makes your eyes wince in spite of themselves. It's the rain where you don't notice the lightning in the sky, even as you pass under a tree. It's rain that does not change with the passage of time, that still smells like the dust coming up from the pavement. The rain that can come at any second and dwindle to a light mist the next. This is the rain that reminds me of mother nature, of childhood, of days without care. Days where worry did not show up on the lines of my face or speed up the blood coarsing through my veins.
Anyone who knows me knows I love sleep. I think I cherish sleep because it is rare that I get a full night of restful, uninterrupted, dream-inducing, REM achieving sleep. This is evidenced by the plethora of sleep related products and therapies I own. I have 3 sleep masks, two different kinds of sleeping pills (one to help me fall asleep quickly, one to take if I wakeup in the middle of the night), aromatherapy sleep-inducing lotion and body wash, and CDs I bought to play if I ever have a song stuck in my head. There are various reasons that I need this many sleep products. My biggest interference is my own mind. I have an overwhelming amount of thoughts, ideas, and memories that are flowing through my consciousness at any given moment; it’s probably why I write so much. These thoughts are hard to quiet down unless I’m very tired. If I have a song in my head I may as well forget going to sleep until I can block out my inner DJ. These are times when sleeping pills and jazz music come in handy.
You might be wondering why I don’t just go to sleep when I’m tired, and wake up when I’m fully rested. That would be a dream come true, but because of my early work schedule, very impossible. For as long as I can remember I gave my body eight hours of sleep a night, even if it meant going to sleep before all my friends. This worked well for me before such responsibilities as living on your own, working two jobs, and traveling; not to mention a social life I like to keep active. At this point in my life I just try and get my body accustomed to a 6 or 7 hour night of sleep, even on weekends. I can’t change the amount of sleep I get each night by too much. If I’m tired the next day I can’t take a nap like most people. This is because I am prone to migraines and any changes in sleep schedule can mean a whole day of pain, light sensitivity and a lack of function. Do you understand how precious sleep is to me now?
As I type this I am sipping on a 20 oz. cup of coffee, because last night was a long night of tossing and turning. Caffeine has never been able to wake me up like it does for other people, but right now even the act of sipping is helping me stay awake. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll just go and find me a nice dark room somewhere to close my eyes for a few seconds. Good night!
My friend told me a joke one day. He said, "What's the difference between a Black man and a park bench?" I immediately cringed at the thought of this punchline. When I didn't respond he said, "A park bench can support a family!" This was immediately followed by laughter. How many of you laughed at this joke or another racial joke directed at Black men? I can admit, that yes, even I found a little hilarity in it. Now let me add here that my friend is not in the "majority," nor is he a priviliged "minority," he is a Black man who, in his life, has experienced MUCH prejudice and felt the direct effects of racism. Then why is he spewing a racial joke directed at his very race and gender?
Yesterday, I was talking to another friend of mine, another young Black man. I asked him if he has ever been told a racist joke just for the fun of it. We talked about this park bench joke in particular, which he found pretty funny. I was offended for him. He did not agree with my argument that these kinds of jokes are just an example of the stereotypes that exist in our society and are in fact perpetuated and enforced by jokes like this one. He in short saw no harm in it. As I tried to explain to him, tried to make him see how just one seemingly innocent joke said by someone else could effect hundreds, I felt defeated. I was not going to change his mind and I know there are thousands maybe millions of people who feel the same way, that one little joke does not effect anything.
At 8 years-old I heard my first racist joke against my ethnicity. It compared Puerto Ricans to skunks. I was surrounded by a bunch of laughing white kids, in Sunday school no less, and all I wanted to do was dissapear. These kids did not even know that I was Puerto Rican (how often does that come up in a third graders conversation?) and, in my embarassment, I could not even stand up and defend my race. That joke had a lasting effect on me, enough that I could rewrite it verbatim 17 years later if I wanted to. All I can think about is how that park bench joke can effect an 8 year-old Black boy, or even an 18 year-old Black man.
It does have an effect. If it didn't how could we hear it doday? I can put all my money on the fact that it was not a Black man who created this joke. He does not sit around thinking of ways to degrade his race. If the joke was told in an all white setting, and everyone was laughing it up, does it then have an effect? This joke falling on white or any races ears, justifies their prejudism. It gives them confirmation of what some of them believe is undeniably true, that Black men are not worth anything and cannot even provide for a family. I'm not the first person to think of this. Dave Chapelle created programming, not to degrade his race but to shine light on what is so wrong about how society looks at Blacks and minorities. It was, in some respects, a satire of racial stereotypes. How many people saw it that way and how many people laughed at his skits because the material rang true to their beliefs and stereotypes? What if a racist person were watching and thought, here is a Black man who is showing Black people as pimps, hoes, and gangsters, that's how I look at it. It was no secret that Dave Chapelle quit after a white crew member laughed "a little too hard" at one of his jokes. Using language comes with great responsibility, and he knew that.
It is no accident that the most common racist jokes against white people is that white men have "small dicks" or involve a white person "acting Black." Why is it that a white suburbanite acting urban is considered funny? Our society deems it ludicrous for a white person to want to engage in Black culture. In high school a Black classmate was derided mercilessly for not acting his race, or I should say what others decided was "acting Black". This is the satire against white people? This is the worst "joke"? Tell me if you think this is funny, What's the difference between a white man and a park bench...? A park bench can support a family!
Are you laughing? If not, look me in the face and try to tell me that a racist joke effects no one.
I've been procrastinating... and procrastinating. So now I think it's finally the right time to start this thing, this blog, this... pathway to my mind? Nah, too cliche, too corny. Let me just start out by saying that I will be writing. In fact I pledge to write! But that's it, I can't make any other promises.
I can't guarantee that I will open up my heart and soul for you to bear witness. I can't even tell you that what I write here will be true. I hope to open your mind, but I can't guarantee that either. What I can promise is that I'll write. What I can write on these pages will be interesting, and hopefully even entertaining.
I hope that this can be the beginning of something! A beautiful relationship with the Internet population. I may never get "discovered" or get featured in a TV special on network news, but just being able to write and have people read it is enough.
