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If ‘Insecure’ Season 2 Episode Two Was a Poem

Since 2005 I’ve narrated my life in journals.  On occasion I like to carefully flip through the well-worn pages, some dog-eared, and gauge how much I’ve grown and how much I am quite the same.  

On a recent flight I flipped through the pages of one of my first journals whose cover affirmed that “I’m too blessed to be stressed.”  I sat in between two men and giggled aloud as though I was engaging in “Remember when…?” conversation with one of my best girlfriends. Because, well, I was.  My journal has been one of my most non-judgmental friends never interrupting my thoughts but apt at confronting me with hard truths reminding me of the times I promised to humble myself and not hide behind foolish pride.  

In a row with extra leg space mourning the end of a vacation gone by too quickly, my journal let me be a young lady of over a decade younger sitting on a twin bed on a spring morning in May reckoning with the idea that even before HBO’s Insecure I was channeling Season 2 Issa with a Tasha lean. 

11:19 am                               May 30, 2005

He doesn’t know that I think of him

or care beyond belief

He doesn’t know I want him even when he doesn’t want me

He has no idea how I would engulf him and wrap him up inside of me

He doesn’t know the songs in which I sing 

or the notes that I can hit

He doesn’t know the arch of my back

or the sway of my hips

the feminine rounds of my body

the softness of my lips

He doesn’t know I am his biggest fan

He doesn’t care that I am in awe

You see, his nonchalance is part of the appeal

not motivation for my withdraw

How could he know?

He’s practiced erasing us from his memory and burning the prologue of our unfinished chapter

He doesn’t know that I am afraid of him having no reaction, no love for me after

He doesn’t know the depths of it all

Nah.

He doesn’t know me at all

not a poem

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A Woman Is A Man’s Best Accessory?

Can men survive, or thrive, without women? Methinks not.

Years ago I decided to boycott music videos not only because I was hard pressed to see a lead woman of my complexion, but also because I was desperate to avoid video images assaulting senses other than my vision. Watching horrible, degrading music videos totally impacted how I heard the song.

It is no secret that the heavily male dominated rap culture cannot survive without women. The culture of this new era rap genre is dependent on the female body to create music videos and alleged tales of sexual exploits and conquests in their lyrics. Women are the consumers of rap music, the muse, and the abused of the misogynistic customs adopted by rap culture, even if only for public display and consumption.

What has now become evident to me is that men in general can’t seem to survive without women. I reached this conclusion a few times in my life, but most notably on a recent trip to Miami when my girlfriends and I were offered seats in the club’s VIP section paid for by a group of men who seemed to be “collecting” a female entourage to sit pretty on the sectional while tapping our pointy toe stilettos and sipping on whatever was being offered.

Had I not been so bored that I began creating a mental list of the many reasons why I am no longer about that “club life,” I would not have noticed how the ladies drafted to the VIP section served as ornaments on a Christmas tree. The particular brand of men who use women as accessories serve as the metaphorical Christmas trees:  dry, overbearing, with a definite shelf life, and ever welcomed in the home past a certain time.

Sitting in the club I began to feel a little disgusted at the thought that we, not just my friends and I, but women everywhere are so commonly used as accessories. Without us many men are incomplete, and not a fairytale love kind of way.  They are fully dressed but without shoes, a watch and tie. Needing women to make oneself look and feel better is seemingly an issue of low self-esteem and envisages the lame and destructive “pimps up, hoes down” concept. 

Should we be flattered? I’ll admit that being arm candy and being “shown off” isn’t so bad when that man who is showing off the beautiful woman in his life recognizes and treats her as if she is more than just a cardboard cutout offering of an image fulfilled. But being used as a shiny ornament or for the benefit of a nice ass shot in the latest tip drill-esque music video negates whatever sense of flattery that may have been intended and felt. 

That night in the Miami club VIP I realized that 1) the drinks are pretty watered down when being shared among an entire harem in a Miami nightclub, and 2) men truly cannot survive or thrive without women.

via GIPHY

“This is a man’s world. But it would be nothing without a woman or a girl.” ~James Brown

 

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