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Meshell Might Be a Cutter.

April 5, 2010

She's hiding her nipples. Also, self-harm evidence.

Let me set a scene for you.  It’s half past eight.  The sun is reluctantly sinking into its cradle, but it has resolved not to go quietly, and as it goes it throws its protest across the sky, streaking the atmosphere with bolts of sharp oranges and pinks.  There is a rumble in the distance.  Storm clouds move in, and though the sun is gone the air seems to get hotter.

Across the room, splayed atop your satin sheets, is your lover, legs gently splayed, eyes wide.  They watch you as they move closer; the only sounds either of you hear are of a rush of blood quickening in your ears and Meshell Ndegeocello pleading softly in the background:

Put your tongue in my mouth
Make me wet
Run your hands down my back
Grab my ass…

You kneel next to your lover and begin to consider Me’Shell’s words, acting on the lines that send a shiver sliding into the pit of your stomach, watching to see how well the next line is received.  The song pulses on.  “Does it feel good?” she asks, and then:

“Can’t you feel my sadness?”

…Wait, what?!

What just happened!?  How did we get here??  How did we even get here??! We was vibin’, right?  We was cool, right?  Wasn’t everybody feelin’ good, rubbin’ this and touchin’ on that?  Where the fuck this emo come from?  What’s this cut on your wrist?  Where that come from?  You fall?  Is that another one?  And another–you know what, it’s gettin’ kinda late.  I gotta go and um.. walk my cat.

3 Comments leave one →
  1. Lite Bread permalink
    April 5, 2010 7:15 pm

    Ms. Brokey,
    I know you put this up, because, in a sense, it is funny. I know you mean it all in the true sense of Splackavellie.
    But, I gotta tell you, it hit me in a completely different (and unintended) way. A vast recall of the reality of exactly THAT happening.
    I wasn’t much more than 19, and became involved in a rather torrid relationship with a young woman. And THIS occurred, first time things got, uh, er, physical. It became a huge awakening for me, to many things, including the unique aspect of ‘black girl pain’.

    I took the time to listen to her about Why. To keep my mouth shut and let her slowly unravel the pent-up hurt and self-doubt. To discover, that while I thought she was cute, she knew, as a very dark and average-looking girl, she wasn’t the Standard, not for most A/A males and definitely not mainstream (white) society. Felt she was good enough to be used for sex, but not be the girlfriend (or better). While she studiously avoided the word rape, I came to clearly understand nonconsensual sex had happened sometime. She had self-confliction, she had personal-value difficulty, and she had diminished dignity as a young woman.
    Looking back, I was so young. But I really cared for her. So I listened. I tried to empathize. What else could I do, as there is no changing the past.
    Only a hope for the future.

    Hope that doesn’t ruin the atmosphere here at Splackavellie, lol!

    • Ralonda permalink
      April 5, 2010 8:43 pm

      I’m glad you were so understanding. KUDOS!

  2. Lite Bread permalink
    April 17, 2010 12:39 am

    Sorry Ms. Brokey. Guess I really ruined the atmosphere on that there one …

    I’ll do better. Promise on my Fetish! “My Preccciiooouuusss”

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