~Lovely lil Disclaimer~

Keep in mind that this blog is devoted to all things GAY. That means any news, advice, entertainment, literature, reviews, jokes,polls, etc will be completely curved. I might give it to you with no chaser but it definitely wont be STRAIGHT!

Friday, April 24, 2009

For the love of lesbian poetry...

Staceyann Chin. Im not even gonna get into how deep she is. I remember her from old school Def Jam Poetry episodes on HBO and the image of her effortless delivery of her fiery flow, topped with that thick afro cascading down shoulders always poised and ready to spit yet another line of poetry to throw you back on your ass....yes. Ms Staceyann Chin is the bizness and this is one of her poems that i'm a huge fan of. (Please notice my comments in pink parenthesis. Sorry I jus couldnt help myself.)


Common Truths or Why I Love Pussy (Holla!)
Itching fingers make for poignant laughter feet dangling miles above where we began
years ago I told her that this too shall pass and she remembers
even now she kicks intermittent heels swinging rhythmic as if feet were made for hanging off of high places
women have always been the center of things beautiful for me becoming woman has always been the center of my girlhood
the sum of my thighs ankles even my shoulders were always girl
when I bled for the first time I told only my best friend
wrapped my secret in her ear and assured her that this blood meant we could make babies
being girl and vulnerable meant I had to run faster than itchy fingers farther than sweaty palms reaching for my hands my tiny breasts had to be brave against the full fling of his fury when I refused
when I stabbed him pencil point sliding swift into his flesh the whole house stirred and slipped silly into a frenzy and I was proud of my pencilpoint sharp and without fear
my aunt beat me anyway and I cried more out of loneliness than anything
one cousin’s name still remains quiet upon my tongue
I think of him when I am sad or angry or afraid of things that do not make noises in the dark
the other one stark raving mad
showed me his dick told me I smelled like a woman in my little girl’s body hips barely budding he cornered me
in the hallway the bathroom
when I bled
I washed quick and quiet in secret I became a cradle for civilization
no body not woman can claim that privilege
magic Rachel says magic
we can stir our hips and dip them in footprints of blood
mark the path of a nation a world a universe of possible peoples charting a familiar course
I am a girl become woman now
no queries necessary under my skirt my jeans cargo pants panties boxers
under my briefs rests my pussy my twat my cunt bleeds
once a month I am reminded that though the traffic from my womb has been slow
though I have not yet given birth
I can
my body can do something no boy or man or not-woman can
do it! I dare you to make people without a vagina
Buddha or Man or Beast
Even Jesus had to pass through a punani (LoLLL)
angels and messengers aside
Mary had to lend passage to God or them Christians might still be Jews
waiting for a Christ that was stuck up the ass of some man who though he could do what little girls do everywhere against their wishes
they carry sons and fathers and cousins who envy their vagina
their breasts their ability to make breath from passion or the neat decision of an intent
one day my own body will semaphore
petals will bloom little girls called Olivia
and Andrea and Elisha and Racquel
mouths will open wide in wonder and terror
at the beauty the magic of what girls do everyday women carry people into places of being
everyday I am grateful I was born
bloody snatch in just the right place
yesterday my mother told me to write my story
no matter that I write her in unflattering truths
write she told me
I hope it sells so you can have a child with a heart like yours
beating fair and kind
and everything was better
it did not matter that she left me twice
no matter that me being girl meant that she could not be safe as woman
in Jamaica 1972 yesterday
she said
write and the world righted itself and I wished that every girl whose mother left
would give her permission
unnecessary but grand
to say what happened
to her flesh and fury
to write how she survivedthe splendor of being a small girl
in a big world that so deeply favors men
I wish every girl
had a room of her own a room with a splendid view a room from which she could be safe from the terror of these brutal but common truths....

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Oh i love me some stacy. Ive seen her in NY like 10 times and yes she is the truth.

curiouslovechild said...

I love her too! You know her memoir just came out? I'm so getting it once I have a job again!

knowledge said...

I had the very fortunate opportunity to listen to her recite a very moving piece at the 2006 gay games. I'd never heard of her before then, but I've never forgotten her since. Her poetry is powerful. Big ups.