Monday, November 29, 2010

Death Becomes Her: HIV/AIDS

 What is this ad about?
Kim Kardashian?
Death?
Designer dresses?
Coffin Sale?

This ad is suppose to make you think and care about HIV/AIDS.
You are suppose to care that you will not be able to
tweet or have facebook
contact with your favorite celebrity.


#FAIL


HIV/AIDS is too important put more emphasis on a celebrity than the issue itself.
To use DEATH in this manner is misguided.


World AIDS Day is December 1, 2010
for an event and testing site near you.



Friday, November 26, 2010

Amel Larrieux- Weary



I AM this SONG

This woman is growing weary
Of having to be so strong
Of having to pretend I’m made of stone
So I won’t end up with no broken bones
I can’t fight every battle alone

I want someone to lift me
Heal my wounds and give me kisses on my head
Say words that should be said
Fear is not the matter
I would so much rather open up my heart
And lay down my guard

Chorus:
If I could trust someone
To have my back and never do me wrong
Then I would give my love up
Just like that stop singing this soldier song
(repeat)

whomever said love was overrated
must not be getting’ none
my independent days have had their fun
but when the parties over
and the workin’ day is done
I just want to come home to someone

I want a love to take me
As I am not make me compromise myself
Or be like no one else
Fear is not the matter
I would so much rather open up my heart
And just lay down my guard

Me'Shell NdegéOcello - Fool of Me




foolish crushes, foolish smiles, foolish gestures.....

Thursday, November 25, 2010

i've seen the future and it will be...

The Morning After

After my blog the other day, I received lots of love and even sadness which I didn't expect.  I really don't know what reaction I expected because I did it for me.  What I've realized is that honesty and transparency is scary for some. I'm not bothered about what you know about me. I'm bothered by what I don't know about myself.  Its all a spiritual thing.  Its a God thing. Its a Universe thing.  I listen. I respond. I'm obedient.  I do what I hear and I was told to purge via the blog, to release.  Sometimes the effects are unexpected and even negative but its about being obedient to my spirit.

I greatly appreciate those who reached out to me with kind words and who were full of understanding. Thank you.  This is just the first days to a life of happiness and fulfillment but I have to wash away the muck. I'm seeking the freedom of my soul.  I meant every word and its liberating.  My journey is for my purpose and its all good. I understand God.  I've stepped up for this and its really all good.

I'm very grateful and I'm good.  I looked at the woman in the mirror.  More should do the same.

clevawords.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Who am I: Looking for my own rainbow......

This morning, I woke up thinking. I had mad thoughts racing through my mind about "Who is Rhonda?"  Its a question I continue to ask.  For Colored Girls still fresh on my mind as I've examined my confusion of who I've become. I don't really know.

I don't know who this person is that I carry around daily. I remember someone else, happier, more pleased with her smile, her style, her flow, her focus.  Today, I miss her. I wear an outer shell of this confusion, my body.  I can teach the world to eat, move, love and those steps are being lost on my own journey, my own poetry. This outer shell tells the story.  It tells the story of being kicked, smacked. It tells the story of being called dumb and told my dreams are foolish. It tells a story of longing for closeness from a father that doesn't know how to be close. It tells the story of repeated death and loss.  It tells the story of mistrust and dishonesty.   I'm wearing this outer shell of hurt and pain, of womanizing, of sexual exploits.   Every pound is a like a layer of clothing smothering the woman I use to know and be. I miss her.

I sat on the floor of my office approximately two weeks ago and cried. I longed for her. I cried as my stomach ached in pain confessing my death to my dearest sister/friend.  It was truly a confession repeating over and over, "I don't know me."  Just in that phrase I knew I am an abused woman.  I am a suffering woman.  I am a depressed woman. I'm a grieving woman.  I've put on these layers so that the world could not see me anymore.  Maybe if you can't see me, you can't hurt me. You can't demand me to be something I'm not.  You will stay away. You will not claim to love me then hurt me. Each pound a reflection of mental illness. I no longer purge but I've traded the euphoric feeling of bulimia with workaholism with food still being a passive lover.  Rhonda is known for being a hard worker.  Just this past weekend when I spoke with my aunt, I told her I had to attempt to write a grant. Her response I connected with.  "Rhonda, you're always working."  It was said with pity and I noticed. It sadden me.

I wonder if I'm a walking build board of hypocrisy as I lay down the foundation of a nonprofit to teach women and their families about balanced living when I know my own life is on full tilt.  My eyes are wide open. I know the path to health. I know the steps to freedom but I'm admittedly in some bondage.  I want Rhonda back. I need to have more to me than a great work ethic, great ideas for change.  Maybe it isn't about getting her back but allowing her to live and breathe again. I've lost my FREEDOM.  She needs CPR. She needs to heal from abuse that she thought she could so easily walk away from because she is that cliche`, a so-called Strong Black Woman.  She is here. I feel the labor pains of a rebirth but I need midwives and hand holding through this delivery.  I'm a motherless child and I feel that loss daily but I know there's power in being here without the physical love of a mother. There is hope.  Its time to peel the layers off.  Its time to prepare for this rebirth.  My spirit connects with the Spirit who woke me up this morning with all of this on my heart to release unto the Universe.  This is my confession.  I am greatness. I'm an eagle who has to be reminded she is an eagle.  I am greatness.  I'm a lioness who has lost her fierce roar. God has revealed my latter will be greater than my former and it starts with a confession.  I am still  know my rainbow is on the horizon. I must first deal with the rain. 

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Not a writer.

When reading Clevawords, please note, I don't claim to be a writer. I'm just one woman with an opinion, with emotion, with personal insight.

enjoy.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

For Colored Girls: Seeing Red

After being very vocal about being Tyler Perry a less than favorite choice to direct an adaption of Ntozake Shange's "For Colored Girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf" or better known now as "For Colored Girls", I watched the movie feeling empty. I've seen myself in the colors of orange and green. I've empathized with the browns in my life. I know yellow and I know blue. Then there is RED.


I could spend time examining the issues I had with the movie. I could also celebrate the power of dynamic words used to express OUR stories of various hues, depths, and struggles. The color red, Janet Jackson's character, disturbed me. This development of this character reeks of Perry's own personal agenda. He wanted to talk about the down low situation. He wanted to bring in HIV and so he did.  In spite of Janet's less than wonderful acting abilities, I was interested in how her story would play itself out. I heard about her. This would speak to the professional black woman: busy, cold, unemotional, and troubled.  She can't relate to other women or her man. I feel like she was plucked from one of those youtube clips that have gone viral, laid out on my Facebook news feed for me to embrace as real, a reflection of who black women have become. RED.

Her husband is on the proverbial "down low".  [sigh]  Understand this. I co-facilitated a workshop with J.L.King before he wrote the book, "On the Down Low". I've done radio shows with them. I understand this issue.  I was disappointed that this was presented in this manner.  Black women and HIV is a serious issue but data does not support the notion that women are getting HIV from bisexual black men.  Perry went for dramatics and not responsibility. In the HIV/AIDS field, we have had to rework, undo, and convince women that they are not victims of HIV and bisexual men but they are ultimately responsible for their sexual health.

But then there's the cough. 

Who told Janet to cough to display she was "sick"?  We are not in the 80's. I was pissed. We do so much to reduce stigma around HIV/AIDS.  Was she suppose to have an AIDS diagnosis? Irresponsible but it was Perry wanting this storyline to happen.  He wanted this in but did more harm in my opinion.  He tried to counter it with Loretta's character teaching about HIV to a group of women its appreciated but that can't stand up against the dramatic HIV/down low moment.  Irresponsible. Maybe I can't appreciate the attempt. I believe his intent was to be relevant with this story. I was angered. RED.

At the end of the day, its not about Tyler's movie but Shange's masterful work which pushes through Mr. Perry's limited abilities. Every time I hear the poetry, my spirit connects and responds with tears, sighs, and memories.  My rainbow, sometimes, wasn't enough so I'm at least thankful that women who would have never picked up Ntozake's work can at least have somewhat an experience of seeing themselves in Perry's take on For Colored Girls.   There's so much more I could say and want to say but this is enuf.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

deep rooted
manic
insanity ensues
grasping at doses
of normalcy
Walking through my past
on the other side
of it all
lost
drawn
aching
Yet feeling all things
will come to peaceful
resolve

Looking to the heavens
as a dove
lays wait
again on
my windowsill
seeing hope
through the clouds
seeing new
things in the rain
Knowing that
the right answer will
come from above
Let my spirit be guided
through the
insanity

Laying wait until
it all comes to pass
when the Divine answers
the pending question
embrace the truth
pushing sadness aside
no matter how much
its taken over
Hope is the light
of all things
Love covers all
being the filthy rag
I've become

love and hope
wins.
Would it be so arrogant to say
that I am Perfection?
that's not to say that I am perfect
But I am as the Milky Way
the sun, the moon, the shooting star
I am the open sky
the steaming rain, the tornado and the chilled winters day
I am Perfection
beautified, flowing and real
smarts matched with seductive wiles
libidinal energies touching your soul
I know how to move you with simple words and
parted lips I make you want
me
I am Perfection
independently I stand for more than
going green and the new social trends
Motherhood singularly I stand
still fighting for and believing in Fatherhood
Fists and fros and nappy hair
dark skinned blackness
Revolution is in my soul
I am purposed
I am Perfection

Would it be so arrogant to say
that I am Perfection?
that's not to say that I am perfect
But I am as the Milky Way
the sun, the moon, the shooting star
I am the open sky
the steaming rain, the tornado and the chilled winters day
I am Perfection
beautified, flowing and real
smarts matched with seductive wiles
libidinal energies touching your soul
I know how to move you with simple words and
parted lips I make you want
me
I am Perfection
independently I stand for more than
going green and the new social trends
Motherhood singularly I stand
still fighting for and believing in Fatherhood
Fists and fros and nappy hair
dark skinned blackness
Revolution is in my soul
I am purposed
I am Perfection

Sound

Wrestling with the emotions
of streaming thoughts
as the sea moans
with displeasure
of the winds
the twisted mindset
moves away from
sweet words
dripping
from lying
lips
Walking towards light
as I awaken from a slumber
of loneliness
confused by my solitude
something embraced as needed
but quiet moments
reminders of emptiness
Can I arise beautiful?
Moving forth in perfection
knowing my past is no
more than a stepping stones
to strength
let me be
no more confused

sound
Thinking about the sands of time
you know Days of our Lives
soap opera type of stuff
on that drama type of thing
daily watching
the "stories"
twists and turns
lies and manipulations
never being your fault
but wait
its just like sands through the
hour glass
One life to live madness
funny the names the give these shows
as empty as a broken promise
again and again
why do we lose our minds in
nonsense
The guiding light
because it would take a
soap opera for me
to believe the bullshit
again.

nice.
hard to be
nice.

care.
hard to
care.

be.
hard to just
be.
Never afraid to love
its just the possibility of being loved back
its where the fear sets in
how will you love me
open fists
or a gentle kiss

Green eYEs





Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Exclusive! Listen To PRINCE Live Now! New York, Are You Ready?!?

Exclusive! Listen To PRINCE Live Now! New York, Are You Ready?!?


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Click to listen!! Prince. Live. Killing it!

Black Girl Blues

If I could play an instrument and write a tune, I would pull from the ancestors: my grandmothers twisted fists, my mothers tears of self hatred, my aunts'  heartbreak of lost loves, blackened eyes, cries....loud cries of birthing the next breed of little black girls.  This tune would be called,
"Black Girl Blues".

I'm sure you have your own song, your own little diddy to write. If you're a black girl, you have a song that's familiar to every other black girl. Our song starts off with hope. All we know is, we are here and we are to be loved and  to be kissed by the Sun. We want to dance to the vibrations of our hearts and souls. We are little goddesses. We are here......

This knowing, this birthright....changes. Our tune.....changes.  Our natural sassy ways are sexualized. We are told we are being "fast" when we are just being girls. We are just mimicking our mommas, aunts, and Big mommas too. We want to be like them. We watch them. We say, "We are you". We say, 'this is me'. But told, no, no...don't be like Big momma. Don't have too much sassy. Don't be a little black girl.

We grow. We grow. As momma tells us not to be so sassy, Uncle Tommy notices. Uncle Tommy tells us he noticed the switch in our ass.He says we too pretty to be his niece.   He tells us that we can be as sassy as we wanna be especially for a fee....maybe some candy or maybe Uncle Tommy will take you to your favorite store...for a fee. Little black girl with too much sassy in your ass, let Uncle Tommy have his way. Let him make you into...a little black girl...confused by love, confused by touch, confused by trust. Momma said you lied about Uncle Tommy cuz you got too much sassy in your ass.  Don't be a little black girl.

Where is the love? Where is the love? Love....the love I received when my face first met creation. The love when I received a smile and a gentle kiss from my mother's tender lips, where can it be? I begin to seek a new definition of me, outside of what I feel I should be.  My God, my Yah has said, "Let her be"....Let her be chocolate with tightly curled hair THEY would call nappy. Let her have beautifully made thick lips and a wide nose designed to take in the air of life. Let her be made in my image.  Let her be. Let her be. So here I be but where am I? I look around to have this world to help to define who I am and I don't see me.  Something called a kardashian mimicking what Yah has said is the beginning of all women, an African creation.  I see lil kims and a minaj longing to be a doll made by Matel.  Should this be me? Is this what a little black girl should become? Blued eyed beauty? Just by its name....relaxer...says my hair is too stressed....not right. Call me Barbie. Not Foxy Brown or Cleopatra Jones.  Don't call me Makeda, Queen of Sheba.  Let me believe that my beauty is secondary.  Keep me hidden. Don't let the world know there is more of me, than of Barbie.  Little black girl, you are black and you are a girl. You have too much sassy.  Don't be a little black girl.

Seek and you shall find. I look for Love. JESUS. The pastor says, JESUS will help me find my way.  He will get rid of the sassy.  He will wash away the evil in my soul that spoke the language of an uncle's weakness. He said Auntie just wasn't satisfying his needs. Pastor says, JESUS will take it away.  JESUS will provide.  JESUS will send LOVE.  No need to seek love from your momma black girl.  You don't need no friends. JESUS is all you need. Pastor says so.  Pastor says I will find LOVE here. I will find a good CHRISTIAN MAN if I just be a good little black girl and let JESUS take care of me.  Because of pain, I see LOVE in any man that says more than 3 Hallelujahs and calls himself Deacon.  "Do you go to bible study?", I ask.   If I love you in the Lawd, I can LOVE you with my body and JESUS will take the sin away.  The CHURCH will save this little black girl from the evil world.  I will find LOVE here.  My sassy ways can be washed away with the blood of JESUS. No more sinful sassy. Don't be a little black girl.

In the church, I've learned more about my inner song. I've learned to hum a new tune. My LOVE continues to be between my thighs it seems but no more giving away my spirit to find something I had at my birth. I will focus on me. This little black girl will become educated. I will focus on my life. I will be all that I can be and should be. Career. Education. I am woman. Degrees. Degrees. Degrees. Look at me now. I am the American dream. Own my home. Make the money. Career is all mine. mine. mine. mine. My sassy ways turn bitter has a tortoise shell. Its my protection. Its my guard. Its a good thing I say and I pray. Its a good thing I say and I pray. Its a good thing I say and I pray.  Right? As the tortoise dies, the shell remains, hollow and alone. I've wanted love. I've sought it from blood, my family, the blood of JESUS...I don't want no more blood. No more hurt. No more pain.  My single hood is examined, criticized and I'm blamed. I am too sassy. I'm too educated. I'm too focused. Why be you? Your sassy ways are the reason why there are little black boys locked behind bars. Remember, you are the first teacher. You were too busy being perfect. You forgot about the little black boys.  Don't be a little black girl.


The blues are in my soul. I write a new song daily as I rediscover that little black girl who only knew the Creators love, the Sun on her face. She has no need to be measured to lighter, whiter skin. Her power is that she lives and breathes daily rewriting her tune. Her blues isn't sad but real. Her sassy is a blade of grass. It is earth. She was chosen to give birth to the world. She was chosen to give birth to the Son of Man. She was chosen to give birth to white, yellow, red, and brown. Why wouldn't you all want to be a little black girl.






Be a little black girl.

Be a little black girl.

Be a little black girl.