by Roya Marsh
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Table of Contents
A Note About the Author
Copyright Page
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For
Geraldine,
Gayla,
and
Glynis
Geraldine, Grandma
Gayla, Ma
Glynis, Aunty
a note from the author:
On Black Butch Representation in dayliGht
Roya
REPRESENTATION MATTERS. I was eight years old the first time I saw a representation of someone like me. It was 1996, when Queen Latifah made her big-screen debut as Cleopatra “Cleo” Sims in F. Gary Gray’s Set It Off. It meant everything to me to see a Black woman living her life openly gay; openly masc presenting; with cornrows, baggy jeans, plaid shirts, and big breasts. I was twenty-eight years old when Lena Waithe became the first African American woman to take home an Emmy award for her work on Aziz Ansari’s Master of None. The episode for which she won the award chronicles the coming-out story of Waithe’s character, Denise. These are representations that have buoyed and emboldened me.
Children who are sexually assaulted are reborn into fire. There’s always a trail of smoke. There’s always a pile of ash. Some folks believe these assaults might sway our sexuality. Sometimes, this is true. But it’s not always the case. At least, it wasn’t for me. Both trauma and the attendant coping mechanisms we devise to live with trauma manifest in countless ways—it all depends on the host upon which our traumas feed.
I knew who I was and who I was going to be well before I was assaulted. I was eight years old when I knew I was going to love women romantically. Even at that age I knew what desire looked like. The youngest of eight children, I was hypersexualized by proximity. Sex was everywhere. Yet, my exposure to sex was limited to heteronormative behaviors and depictions.
I knew I was “different.” My family knew I was “different.” But homosexuality wasn’t something that was prevalent, much less discussed, in my family. Anything outside the heteronorm was passed off as “funny.” My sexuality was either completely disregarded or couched in homophobic epithets. From the moment I was able to dress myself, I wore windbreakers and superhero T-shirts. Dresses, barrettes, and the like were never my thing, but I wasn’t in charge of my hair just yet. In overalls, I was “tomboy” passing.
Experiencing an assault in my childhood made me vulnerable to assault in my teenage years. Later, seeking support, I found brick walls instead. To this day, I’m met with ignorance when I raise the subject with those closest to me. Some folks just can’t fathom any hetero-predator wanting a girl like me. Some folks just can’t fathom a woman like me having sex appeal to a man eager to conquer.
Most days my femininity is catcalled into existence. I’m considered just woman enough—enough to fuck into a condition the world will accept. I know representation isn’t a cure, but it’s a start. I fear violence against my community will continue to go unabated unless we continue to tell our stories and fight for a wider understanding of the full spectrum of sexuality and gender.
When I see Cleo, I see myself—even if I also see a level of toxic masculinity and an objectification of women in her character that I struggle against. In Cleo, I see wit. I see strength. I see pride (to a fault). And I see a woman with a drive to become utterly unfuckwithable. When I see Denise, I see myself. I see a woman living her best lesbian life; dealing with the ebb and flow of others’ perceptions.
SINCE THE RISE OF THE #MeToo movement, I have longed (perhaps, selfishly enough) to see women who look like me come forward. Of course, that’s not to say that I want to see us as victims. Rather, I want the world to know that there isn’t only one type of victim. I’m calling us to the front because I know we exist—women, like me, trapped in yet another closet. I don’t see our stories represented often enough. I want the Google image results for search terms like “strong Black woman” and “bad bitch” to look like us, too—the Masculine of Center (MoC) woman, the butch, the colored dyke, the survivor who struggles with forgiveness. I am forever indebted to those writers and artists who’ve showcased these characters and narratives—to Audre Lorde, and Barbara Smith, and Anita Cornwell, and Alice Dunbar-Nelson, and June Jordan, and countless others. It is my hope to add an ember to the flames they’ve lit.
We often forget the wonders of fire. There may be smoke at the start and ash at the end, but always in its wake lies evidence of the work done to light the way.
in broad dayliGht black girls look ghost
Carefully, i arrange my disguise. It has been designed not to stand out … i decide to look like a poor Black woman.
—ASSATA SHAKUR
i’m good with my tongue.
it makes me most visible.
with a shut mouth I’m a good dresser.
a flapping tongue makes me:
sexy
well learned
a conquest
my voice is more pronounced than my skin tone
and i need to know why
i track down my ancestry through DNA
i track down someone with my last name
she tell me it’s hers
she white
says it’s funny how I’m black
i say, “ha-ha”
results say i’m hers
in history
in old law
in old English
say her great greats
owned my greatest
on this soil.
“wow,” she say
and i hold my tongue. tight. between molars.
’til it bloody and useless
’til i can’t speak
’til she don’t see me
and swallow back the blood i ain’t ask for in the first place
in broad dayliGht black descendants look gall
a saturday
betwixt the chin-high grass
hot enough to scald a lizard
beneath the mason dixon
a single home in a field of trailers
the big house
we dancing
the floorboards creak
the howl of a billion souls unfree
the record spins
the beat repeats
you still away,
steal away
heavenward
where your grands’ grands will belong to no one
’cept themselves
steal away to own your own body
what is it about learning you have a body that makes having a body so damn complicated?
joy is an impossible thing to remember
to forget
to know yourself as your own, but still a descendant of theft
joy to be free in vain
as a result of someone else’s captivity
two black women
egos the top rung of a ladder
trapped in the body of a ditch
but we wobble
atop a warehouse of stolen caskets
the dance floor shimmys back
sayin’ g’head girl, this joy is yours
in broad dayliGht bruised black girls look goals*
an erasure for emily b. and tonie nicole wells
One and then the two
Two and then the three
Three and then the four
Then you gotta … (LEAVE)
Then you gotta …
Then you gotta …
Yo, these niggas can’t breathe when I come through
Hum too, some shoes, gotta be twenty, man
It’s not even funny, they can’t (breathe)
The chokehold’s too tight
The left looks too right
You know what, you right
These bitches can’t (breathe)
Look, look, they hearts racing, they start chasing
But I’m so fast when I blow past that they can’t (breathe)
In the presence of the man
Your future look better than your past if you present with the man
You better (breathe)
One and then the two
Two and then the three
Three and then the four
Then you gotta …
Then you gotta …
Then you gotta …
LEAVE!
what the world gon’ say ’bout a single mother?
same shit they say ’bout a battered one.
q. what she do to make him go off
a. stay
fight. tooth ’n’ nail. call daddy.
when yo’ baby daddy forget he not yo’ daddy.
when your whole relationship been a game of dress-up
& the costumes come off
in front the camera. in front the world.
and you live long enough to be hashtagged into fault
defense of the abusive black rapper
stretches longer than turkey day leftovers
& you surplus, crumbs from the dust of woman and color.
black bitch.
gold digger.
how dare you save yourself.
we told you, die.
so we could RIP you, sis.
look at tonie,
gone
from giving us life on theshaderoom
to dead on the basement floor.
barry gets life, but not her.
devalued. dumb. doomed.
y’know, i do wanna see both sides.
rip entry & exit wound.
repent and reform.
i’ll wait and will and work
’til then …
“I got a bullet with your [fame] on it.”
one and then the two
* lyrics from fabolous’s “breathe.”
in broad dayliGht black girls look gat
a found poem from Facebook comments
March 24 at 1:19 p.m.
Why do you have a gun?
Comments:
Zeke Russell Because I was expected to own a rifle where I grew up.
Steve Grimaldi Why not to protect another life in a dire situation against one’s own ideals and morality?
Tony McPherson (drake voice) maybe one day? Maybe one day
R Dot Wright Because white people are crazy
James DeVille Because it’s my right, I’ve been victim of an unexpected home invasion after a vacation that left me shot & I refuse to get another gunshot wound.
Steve Grimaldi I know people that happen to be the same color as me are dumb. I don’t need/have one. I’m just saying that gun control starts within oneself. If you don’t need it for work or survival or hunting, you don’t need one at all.
James DeVille Keywords here are need & survival.
Is that all?
Jesse Parent Varmints
Steve Grimaldi Looney tunes … lol we. Laughed every time Elmer Fudd tried to shoot the wabbit knowing he never would. We grow up and see: That’s not the actual result
Dominique Christina To blow that bitch if I need to protect myself.
RJ Walker Growing up, they were commonplace. Used to shoot cans in the desert. Now, I can’t have one. Too much of a risk to myself. But you know, a good pellet rifle is just fine for shooting cans these days. If I wanna go target shooting, I can go to the range and pick whatever rediculous cartoon boomstick I want.
Michaelchief Peterson My great-grandfather was murdered over a quarter. My younger brother was murdered over nothing. People will try to kill you before you even think about fighting them. And I have two children i must protect.
Simple answer, i can’t trust people.
Eean Tyson Because its 2018 and i’m black, plus my family hunts
in broad dayliGht black activists look gunshot
In a conversation about the fiftieth anniversary of MLK Jr.’s assassination my father says,
“They don’t kill no one important in the U.S. no mo’.”
and how easy he forgets.
how a happy home dies in a snapshot.
how language is loaded.
how i was raised loaded for bear.
how he been a half-cocked father.
how my brother got swallowed by a barrel.
how that’s his own forgotten blood not even 10 years gone.
how gaping the vacancy beside my mother at his funeral.
how he go exit wound whenever he see fit.
how he sweat bullets when we question his absence.
how I’m a short-tempered straight shooter triggered to go ballistic.
how he return ready w/ silencer anytime i shoot off my mouth.
how he the reason I ain’t never been no stranger to the business end of a gun.
how he ain’t never mean no harm, he just shooting the breeze.
in broad dayliGht black girls look gat II
a found poem from Facebook comments
March 28 at 3:18 p.m.
Why don’t you have a gun?
Comments:
Suzi Q. Smith Because I’m afraid I would use it.
Priscilla Hernandez what Suzi said. Also my cousin murdered in cold blood by her my more than 2 cents take em away from everyone, including the mofo government. then we b gud
Maya Osborne ^ precisely.
Christopher Michael Strapped
Maryam Dilakian Passley Because I don’t want to take another person’s life.
Natasha Hooper You don’t HAVE to kill anyone just because you have a gun …
Jessicah Shirah Kean I was raised around guns, and more than once had a need to use them. My father once told me that you should never pull a gun unless you intend to use it. Well, he ended up getting murdered and I decided to not to live the kind of life that made me feel like I needed to use that kind of force to keep myself safe. I don’t have a gun because I don’t ever want to shoot someone.
Blaine Scooter Young II Because I don’t trust myself not to use it.
Devin Johnson Cause I’ve been lucky enough to not have to use/need one
Rachel Best Because I was planning on using it the last time I checked myself into a mental hospital.
Maria Soriano Because with my luck an attacker would take it from me and use it on me. Why arm the little mother effers? #igotknees
Ilbersalle Fallon Because I don’t want to get shot
Raul Brunet Jr Because it cost to much to have and maintain legally.
It’s much easier to get one off the street and just pay for the piece not worrying about a license, background checks, or safety classes.
Something’s wrong with this picture … SMH
SaraEve Fermin Because I come from a family of suicide. Because my grandfather committed suicide with a shotgun. Because I have told my doctors about my own suicidal thoughts. Because with this information, they would not let me have one.
Gayla Marsh Because it is more likely to hurt someone close to my heart than to protect them.
John Chance Acevedo Taking classes soon like saturday soon. To legally own
Aldia Lebron Becuz I have more than one
Laura Vookles Honestly—it’s not something that ever occurred to me t
o consider.
J. F. Seary Because I have the distinct privilege not to live in the kind of fear that requires it. I’ve never felt the need for it.
Marquis Ealy 1 they kill niggas for toy guns
2 my suicidal ideation + gun = …
3 I have 3 kids they get into more shit than I ever thought kids could … See more
Tara Jean Bee Because I can’t think of a place I could hide it, that my kids couldn’t find it.
Phillip Giambri Sold them all when I retired.
Liv Mammone Because I don’t have enough balance to hold it and would probably get taken off my feet by the kickback.
Croilot Carlos Adames I have a gun. It has 66 bullets. Demons are afraid it and abusers don’t know how to use it properly.
Thomas Fucaloro Because I have a pen
Chancelier Xero Skidmore They don’t block bullets and therefore do not protect anyone.
in broad dayliGht black moms look grieving
a poem in response to Facebook comments
they have made hell
a home, on earth.
camera captures breath.
concrete captures body.
this is NOTHING
new.
yanking the limbs of breathless,
bleeding bodies behind backs.
i, too, yell commands to the deceased
the hole(y),
they seldom respond accordingly.
that is not a crime—
the yelling or the dying.
the shooting—that is the sin.
my mother says,
if you have a gun
you’ll shoot a gun.
so, i don’t have a gun
i think …
if you have a pen
you will shoot a pen.
i never thought a bullet
could write this many poems.
they do not sweat
when they grab their gun.
i do not sweat
when i grab my pen.
the difference is in our bullets
in broad dayliGht black aunties with no man look damn good