Girls be actin’stank & madd funny. Y’all bitches bleed like me–on the monthly. Can’t stand the pain & pop a humphrey, I know it hurts. “Aunt Dot” – Lil Kim
I remember when I used to be just like you. Rah-rah at the most appropriate times because I’m so real and don’t nobody talk to me like that. Somehow I lead myself to believe that I was the official spokesperson of The Correct Nation. No one could prove me wrong or make me falter. Any studder within my refrain would go over as smoothly as Lebron’s third step in his drive to the hoop. My verses would be as decorated, as powerful, as awe-inspring and, secretly, just as illegal.
The story is… I was online… which website? I’d rather not say, but if you’ve been I’m sure you’ll catch on. Anyhow, before a female cammed up, she was blessed with the introduction of being a “bad snow-bunny”. I’m always up for a show, so I cammed down and waited for the little lady to appear on the screen. Initially, she was fine. All was golden, but after a comment she made about having been locked up recently and having to go back to court (snow-bunnies say the darndest things), the rest of the ladies in the room went in. I’ll admit, it was amusing. I did laugh, but my face wasn’t on camera as theirs were. The ladies were relentless as they threw out epithets like “fat” and “sloppy.” I clenched my teeth in the girl’s defense as she tried to fight back. Her fight though, was muted… as any adult’s would be. How would you come back if under attack by three females ready to jab? Her options were slim, but I was happy with the route she took. Any little girl, too concerned with her pride, would have cammed back up and entered into a yelling match with her opponents. Manda, though… gave a sly “Really, though?” and kept it moving.
The only way to deal with children is to ignore them. A child will yell and kick and scream until they get what they want –or until they realize the shit aint working. You simply have to have the patience to see through it. You let them tire themselves out. You know, cry themselves to sleep. During another conversation, I listened to this very pretty girl go on about fighting. Fighting. I remember when I used to go in about how I could hold my own and it don’t matter than I’m [ this ] big and she’s [ this ] big cuz I’m still gonna stand tall. And I would. And I did. That is, until I realized there are some real brolic bitches out there ready to go and at 6am in the heart of Baltimore City, those bitches don’t play. It was that day, as Lisa screamed through the door to the DJ booth, her boyfriend keeping the girls out, that I clenched the beer bottle in my fist and realized the shit wasn’t for me anymore. I knew what to do, you break the bitch up against something & then go up against the bitch coming for you. It wasn’t fear of my life, it was fear of my mom will find out if I end up at the local hospital when that bill comes through. That was the day I realized I actually have something to lose. I suppose there are certain ages where you only see the present… or perhaps there are certain people who only see the present. They only see what affects their image in the moment. You can’t be timid. You can’t be weak. You can’t be shy. You can’t be meak. This is all so detrimental to our community and (let’s be honest) I’m talking about people of color. We can’t behave as adults in find our power and behaving as animals. Fighting over territory and masculine pride –even the women. What’s so wrong with being quiet? A girl’s got to shut up sometimes. Everything in me wanted to cam up and tell her why her explanation of “I don’t have time, we can take it outside” wasn’t exactly the right choice and was the exact opposite of lady-like.
I believe women should behave like women. Men fight. Men argue. We shouldn’t. We should be their refuge. A woman is supposed to calm a man. Soothe him. Allow him to relax so that when he comes home, he doesn’t have another opponent to battle. Its sort of what happened when Karen held a gun to Henry’s head while he was sleeping. “I have people trying to kill me in the streets. You think I want to come home to this?” he asked her. I know this is easier said than done because I struggle with it myself. I try to hold my tongue but anyone who knows me knows I know everything 😉 It’s difficult to maintain silent when you feel you have answers. When you understand the worth of your voice. But sometimes,we use it in the wrong way. People talk too damned much. If you cut out all the bullshit you have to say, and only said the things that were meaningful, people would listen when you speak –off of pure respect, not intimidation. Sometimes you need to stop speaking simply to be heard. I saw myself in her clearly. I know where she’s at –I made a left at that fork long ago. I hope she chooses wisely. But she’s prettier than I am so it might be tougher for her to see past herself. That’s the danger in beauty. You get caught up and so does everyone else. Even Manda was a victim to it. It was the pretty girl and her decent friends who ganged up on her to make themselves feel prettier. You know the easiest way to make yourself bigger is to make the world smaller. But that’s not the way people should be.
It’s not that you have to be a “bitch” or a “pussy” (both of which are female terms attributed to meek men), it’s simply that you don’t have to find yourself in altercations. Ask around, I’m friendly at the club. I can go out by myself and have a perfect time with females I’ve never seen before because I don’t want drama. You can see a drama-ridden female from a mile away. All she wants to do is sit with a straight face and jump on the first person who looks at her wrong. It’s the “I’ma say how I feel” girl who actually causes the problems. At least if you’re going to be honest to people about themselves, you should apply the same care to everyone. Later on, a guy cammed up with pipe dreams about being a singer. He wasn’t terrible, but he was far from good. It was a “don’t quit your day job” situation if I’ve ever seen one. Somehow, though, everyone said he was “alright” except for me. I was the bad guy and, truthfully, it upset me. Because I wasn’t trying to be mean, I was being honest. He needed work. So when he asked how he was, no one said a word except for me. You’ve got to be careful of the things people tell you when they’re face-to-face with you. There are far too many unregistered pathological liars out here. The rest of the night, ol’ boy would break into the music and try to sing. No one said a word. Why not? I’m still –honestly- thinking about it. Maybe because it’s easier to come at a white girl. Maybe racism has shifted to the extreme. Maybe because someone was already in his PMs and wanted to keep his attention. Maybe it’s because females are far too thirsty for males. Maybe because women only fight each other. Maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe the girls were upset that this “sloppy” white chick had been so highly regarded when they’re not. Maybe.
Maybe it’s because people rarely are who they say they are. Myself, even. But for good reason: We are continuously changing and learning. There is constant growth. The fact that my mind develops new ideas on a second-by-second basis guides me to assume that there is change going on in my brain. There is much I don’t know, which much there is much knowledge I have yet to discover. It’d only be natural that I change with the newly acquired information. Not a new person exactly… but every make and model is upgraded by the year with a body change every so often –unless you’re a quality brand. You see, the 3 series isn’t much different from the 5 which isn’t too different from the 7… but they’re all different. Still, there is a bigger difference between a 3 and a 7 than there is a 7 & a 5. Still, if you start out with a 5, the upgrade to a 7 would be nothing. (This is big money talk, follow me? lol) Point is, once you get a 745, the 750 would be your only higher option because the higher up you get, the less change there is because you’re closer to perfect. The 750 might be the most perfect machine created. I’m a 745.
It’s fascinating to see young girls in action bearing the attitude I used to don as my own. Oh my… it seems it’s my turn to raise these females. Funny cuz I’ve never given birth & I wouldn’t sabotage myself for them. & I might seem like the type to kidnap these little girls, lock them in my basement & spank them if they call me mommy. #Brutal. Instead… I’ll formally adopt you. I’ll treat you kind and rescue you from the streets. I’ll give you a hot plate and clean sheets. Lucky for you, I’ve learned to be kind. There are far too many females out there roaming the streets with pissy attitudes and cheap shoes. I’m so tired. I’m too old for this, but someone has to put you little girls over a knee and teach you something. If you’re wondering if I said something to the bratty little fighter girl, I did not. It wasn’t the right time & my mic was fucked up anyway. Besides, when she told her :fight” story… I knew there was either bullshit inserted or details missing because no fight ends with “i jumped up and punched her and that was it.” That was it? If you’ve ever been a fight before… you know that’s never it. Instead of bringing that up though, I simply threw a “everyone is so real when a female comes in here” in the box and let it ride. There will come the day when she steps out of line because she’s bound to do so. I know this sounds like drama…but really what every girl needs is for someone to put them in their place. The first fight I got into was because I pushed through the crowd at a party & then let some slick shit roll off my tongue as usual. At the end of the night, the girls friend (twice the size of the girl who should have fought me) wanted to handle the situation. And so we did. And while I still hold to it that I held my own, when a heavy weight wants to fight feather, it’s for a reason –she’s got bigger battles than I do so she was treating me the way she’d been treated. I knew her from around the way and had never said two words, but as one of the few females of color in my city, the tension was thick and the envy unspoken. Back in the day, she was the black girl you didn’t want to look like while I was cute “for a black girl” (honestly, I wouldn’t raise my daughters in Rhode Island).
Is it even my place, though? If I’m setting up to “teach” her, aren’t I doing the same thing she is? Here is another moment in which I find myself growing. I really do want to teach her… but I want to come off the right way. Not that I want to be her friend, but I don’t want to set myself up as the enemy. Perhaps it isn’t any of my business and I should just let her walk around like a queen, but when she looks up, she’ll see my thrown hovering over hers. She’s looked up. I’m sure of it. It’s simply that someone needs to speak to her, as an adult, and let her know that it’s okay to be a woman. She’s already noticed that she has the body of a woman…now it’s time she sees that she should have the demeanor of one. Everyone needs to be taught something at some point. I have people who’ve taught me, my sister for example. We all need someone who acts right to show us what to do. So perhaps I’ll simply sit there… and allow her to observe me. Allow her to see how an adult behaves. Someone simply needs to show her that there are other options for attitude because, I don’t doubt, everyone around her is just like her. “I’m not gonna sit back and be quiet,” she argued. “My mother taught me better than that.” At that moment, I know I’m not the only one who wanted to go in on her mother’s parenting skills but… that’s how I knew this little girl was lost. I suppose the only thing I’m weary of is the day when she tries to come at me. You ever feel that way? Like a girl is ready. She wants something to pop off so that she can scream her way to a point and [hopefully] have everyone on her side. It won’t work that way over here though.
She has no idea who I am. That mere fact amuses me and begs for me to inform her that I’m a pretty girl’s worst nightmare: I’m beautiful. I don’t waver. My confidence is sound. But I don’t want to stoop to her level. The most difficult part of being a female is dealing with other females. Heterosexual females, which I’m sure she is as well, get along better with men as they are our preferred counterparts. So my distaste for her might just lie in this natural inclination. Still, I consider this a test. One day, I’ll have a daughter of my own and I’ll try my very very best to raise her to be wise and respectful –things that I was not. & if I can get through to this little girl, it’s just a little practice for the future. You see, I’m a woman. I have different motivation. The only thing I aim to prove is that I can be grown. It’ll be my pleasure to daughter her. I’m about to birth this little girl, potty train her and send her off to daycare with an change of clothes for that pissy attitude. All the while, I’ll talk softly & slowly and call her,”Honey.”
Dear gods, if you don’t help these girls, I will.