i wish sometimes that i had a penis. a big, thick, long phallus to swing about and shift around in my pants. maybe then i would have the gall to be, like some men, not all (for i am no man-basher) a selfish, arrogant, and narcissistic cretin. i think that that piece a flesh must entitle my beloved counterparts to some feeling of superiority and entitlement to their woman's(or most likely women's) minds, souls, and bodies...i feel anger swelling in my chest right now as I think of there lame lines and foolish excuses for infidelities, missed dates, squandered moments, and general insincerity. and that is just the reaction to their women.
worship of the phallus as a symbol of creative energy has been central to virtually every world culture and strong traditions of phallic art existing throughout India, Egypt, Greece and Northern Europe...writer Alain Daniélou expounds that the "penis is a source of bliss and transcendence"...i think that is bullshit.
then there are the men and their masculinity and other men. the deaths and deaths and deaths of scores of our men, bodies bleeding in the streets, on mother's front stoops, and in alleyways... it sends waves of pain through my body. today i saw young men peddling crack to a woman dressed in shorts and a windbreaker in thirty degree weather. they were smiling. she was not. tears welled in my eyes in anger, not pity. i couldn't reconcile who i was mad at either - them, or her, or me, or all of us.
if i carried the power of manhood within my own body, would i squander it in violence, misogyny, and self loathing, or would i take the beauty that is man, black man, and create a kingdom of greatness to rival that of the Kushite, Naptan, Egyptian and Nubian civilizations that created libraries, universities, palaces, great wealth, and power.
i don't possess a penis. or a man's strength. i am not weak or helpless, however, i so desire him, you - to take your places and inherit the hope of our ancestors. their blood was not all spilled on Selma's bridge and Birmingham's streets, there souls were not all crushed on the auctioneer's block, and their strength was not left on the shores of the great Continent,
i am no savior. there is only one God. and i pray to Him for salvation for them and us and we. i only write what weighs like ten ton bricks on my heart and head. i want more for us in this age of hope and possibility. i do not see a bleak future, just the subtle dawning on a new age in which they do take their places at our sides. kings. no one can tell me that you are anyone less, not even me.
with love and temporary frustration,
dee
