I've been thinking a lot about control. Not the Janet Jackson Control...though I adore that Ms. Jackson for that contribution to the soundtrack of bitchitude (wink). Nope, a bitch is talking about the need some feel to control the behavior of others.
A bitch grew up subject to other people seeking to control my life, which is why I really can't stand that shit now. The suffocating social controls of suburban society in the 1980s...my mother's paranoid control over all things that increased as she steadily lost control of her life...my peers seeking to control my ambitions for fear that they might highlight their personal weaknesses...and the people in my world constantly telling my black ass what black people do/think/eat/like/hate/want/desire/should do.
A bitch is a culture junkie without shame and it has long offended my inner anthropologist when motherfuckers feel compelled to accuse this bitch of not behaving black enough.
Curiously, these 'you are not black' indictments come hand in hand with the and 'you're probably a man too' statements.
Because it's not enough to indict my cultural and racial legitimacy...no, my gender must be questioned as well.
Which in a sad way is a rather black woman based experience...to be seen as something other than black, which The Man sees as male while at the same time being something other than a woman, which The Man sees as white.
Interesting, isn't it?
Well, I see it as a form of attempted control and this bitch ain't having it!
Why are my thoughts not the thoughts of a black woman? Who decides that shit...are they licenced or degreed? And which university is handing out a Masters of Supreme Assholia degree!?!
Who gets to be a feminist? Why are some academics forever at each other's throats unless they are distracted by the fresh meat of a non-academic who dared to venture into the protected woodlands of feminist theory? How did something so broad become the protected fortress of the narrow minded?
What does it mean for us all if a theory of empowerment becomes a tool of oppression and a symbol of denial?
Who gets to articulate black female anger? And who gets to decide who gets to do all that shit?
Why does this bitch intimidate you, threaten you, make you lash out as if to protect...
Your throne...your territory...the pathetic comfort of your desperate stereotypes...
...or your control?
Shit check your bag, asshole...'cause you've already lost that.
You wanna lose something else?