alright yall,
so imma try not to kirk out as i blog about me'shell ndegeocello visiting my class today. imma try. but just in case you been living under a rock and don't know who she is, you need to get hip and google and buy and worship at the altar that is her dope ass music.
in true ebony fashion, i gotta poem. i gotta poem. i don't believe in qualifiers but i must say the poem just shares a tanch of what she so freely taught us in our 2 and half hour lecture.
in the midst~~~~for fly ass me'shell ndegeocello
1.
the grain of your voice rubbed against vinyl is prayer
is a ridge (like a ridge in your bottom lip) where i oil up and tan
cause blackness is just a beginning and the edge is where i jump to life
2.
you say i am the offspring of an obsolete machine
so i guess me'shell i ain't got nothing to prove me standing here in all my black woman self all dripping with spirit and legacy and rips that healed and ripped and healed and warm hands say i aint got nothing to prove
3.
you say capitalism is the new religion of the masses
so i guess me'shell jesus gotta come back and set this shit straight cause we need a shift to let our people go we need a movement we can breathe through
4.
you say perchance blindness is but dark thought overcome by the light
and the light is a burgeoning entity that sends eyelashes to the tops of cheeks it shocks the back of the throat as it rolls up the spine it doubletimes doubletimed breath my sweet jesus my jesus i heard that you could save me light travels the blood to the ankles and freezes freezes the walk the thought and the pulse
5.
the star beneath your eye is a mantra is an unforgotten sutra an all night orgasm
like this audible memoir speaking all voices but just yours an evangalestic waltz in the higher chakras metronomic sonic swosh the star beneath your eye is a space where marriage can be savior and a whore a whore a whoreawhoreawhoreawhore
never got to open her p*s(y
6.
post script
a black girl soon to swirl around in her mamas belly writes me'shell a love note and places it in her mamas dreams she does not know other girl babies are writing too together the me'shell love notes make a b.i.b.l.e. read it as a sonogram of your destiny
7.
post script script
dear me'shell
thank you for teaching me that obama and hillary aint as fly as shirley (chilsom that is) and that my skin is written in a rich musical register and that tears open a space for self-construction and that a bass guitar can ask a question as loud as a protest and that thewomanistheonlyavenueofdeliverance and that harriet (tubman that is) was wise to walk her children to canada
truly delivered,
ebony
8.
in your silence you ask how can i be a guided missile meticulous in my craft a reserve of seeping energy a seducer of liberation a bringer of light a choir of hearts clapping hallelujahs in warm air