Generation X

By RaShaunda Lugrand

Written As RaShaun D. Ellison

Don’t be paralyzed into Blackness.
Every kind of Black is not the kind of Black I aspire to be.
Some Black shit is fucked up.
So I call on my principles.
All 7.
Im no longer willing.
Tired of watching people struggling.
Its like…
Customs vs Culture
What books have you read?
Which set do you claim?
Matter of fact.
I don’t aspire to be anything,
But who I was born to become.
Wooly hair way up high.
Thick lips.
Wide nose.
Lighter colored skin.
The deepest pigmentation is
In my melanated parts
On my knees.
My pussy.
And my elbows.
Around the tips of my fingers and toes.
My momma named me after a Lil Indian girl.
I guess you can call me Blackfoot.
I changed my name more than once.
Claiming to be full of pride.
Black Power this.
No pork on my fork that.
Watching consciousness turn over like a fad.
A one hit wonder.
Now we in sparing matches.
Confronted by our own personal drama.
Calling each other out on social media.
I remember 1995.
We was all students of the cause.
We wanted liberation.
We wanted justice for all.
Then I was in the club one day.
Watching girls dance on girls.
The guys we thirsty for three-somes.
Just like in the videos.
Sex wasn’t sacred no more.
Sexuality was a wondering loom.
Whoring was cool.
FUCK whoever you want to.
Ain’t no shame in my game.
My game was tight.
So was my pussy.
As I lent to out for pleasure.
For 5 years in a row.
He didn’t appreciate my chasity.
Even though he let me know.
That I had the BOMB!!!
Don’t you ever let nobody tell you different.
Right then I knew.
He would not be my forever.
So I had to let him go.
Father forgive me
I gave away my milk for free.
Now he only want to pay half price for the cow.
I would pray and pray.
Meditate and pray.
Feeling sexy was child’s play.
Stronger I grew in my womanness.
They called me dikes and diva’s.
Never once had I fantasized about another woman’s body next to mines.
I liked my dick clean, hard, and long.
That matched the face of a fugitive slave.
See I remember when we had no choices.
All the whispers and the violence in their voices.
The trauma of multigenerational racism.
Taking away my magnetism.
Taking away my electricity.
Turing me off.
From myself.
From my male counterpart.
Hoping that I would hate him in time.
That I would reject him and his seed.
Indeed I found myself alone in the wilderness.
11000 feet above sea level.
Looking at the end of this world.
Young and lifeless.
With my pen and paper.
I took a deep breath.
The air of Inspiration Rock.
Memories of burning bushes.
And Hell fire flamed in the town.
The church was covered in ashes.
So I could go home now.
40 days turned into 72 hours.
New moon manifestations.
New moon powers.
So I can make more impact.
Impart more wisdom.
Live more wholesome.
Maintain my marriage.
Mother my seeds.
I carry within me a legacy.
To never have to fight for what is mines.
This Black Magic is genuine.
You’ll have to wait and see.
The most important component of my Blackness
Is that being Black don’t enslave me.
Being Black is what sets me free.



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