Inside the ♥ of a Bee

"I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life. I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as making a "life." I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one. I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I've learned that I still have a lot to learn. I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
— Maya Angelou


Fitz: What’s wrong?

Olivia: (exhales)

Fitz: You pace in circles when something’s wrong. When you’re just thinking it’s back and forth. When something’s wrong, circles.

Olivia: Did you need something, Mr. President?

Fitz: You know you used to sound sexy when you call me Mr. President. Now it sounds like I’m just a gym teacher.

Olivia: Did you need something, Mr. President?

Fitz: The Sally Hemings-Thomas Jefferson comment was below the belt.

Olivia: Because it’s so untrue?

Fitz: You’re playing the race card because I’m in love with you? Come on! Don’t belittle us. It’s insulting and beneath you and design to drive me away. I’m not going away.

Olivia: I don’t have to drive you away. You married and you have children. You’re the leader of the Free World. You are away by definition. You are away. You’re unavailable.

Fitz: So this is about Mellie?

Olivia: No, no, no! This is-

I smile at her and take off my clothes for you.

I wait for you. I watch for you. My whole life is you. I can’t breathe because I’m waiting for you. You own me, you control me, I belong to you…”
Fitz: You own me!

You control me.

I belong to you.

You think I don’t want to be a better man?

You think that I don’t want to dedicate myself to my marriage?

You don’t think I want to be honorable? To be the man you voted for?
I love you. I’m in love with you. You’re the love of my life.
My every feeling is controlled by the look on your face.

I can’t breathe without you. I can’t sleep without you.
I wait for you, I watch for you. I exist for you. If I could escape all of this and run away with you?

There’s no Sally and Thomas here. You’re nobody’s victim, Liv. I belong to you. We’re in this together.


Skin Cry

I ignored that the color of my skin was darker ,than most kids around me , up until the age of 16. My high-school was considered a “white school” and attending a white school for me was like having glow in the dark skin and all the lights were off. I wanted to stand out sure, but people there only knew me for my race. When I opened my mouth however, a calm charming voice rose and shook the very souls of the kids who had preconceived notions about me before I said a word.
I wasn’t your ordinary “black kid”. I grew up on the country side. I made mud pies. I rolled in the grass. I wasn’t aware of “gang violence” and death always laying at the back porch door. That wasn’t my life style. The only Projects I knew of were cut and paste or book reports on Martin Luther King. How many book reports would it take to convince everybody that racism didn’t exist and that everybody loved each other. Well kids are still writing reports til this day so I guess we may never know.
After graduating high school. I had a weird sense of style. I loved being tacky, and hated anything that associated me with black stereotypes. Air force ones, Jordan’s, those bulky race-car jackets, etc. I wore head bands, and light makeup, and ultimately adopted a vintage type style. I love dresses, that “Free People” type style. Not white tees, really tight jeans, whatever classifies black people.
I started realizing that although other races were more accepting of me, I couldn’t really fit in with black people. Because I’m not loud or obnoxious when making an entrance in most cases, I don’t normally associate myself with a lot of black people because I’m not alley or ghetto. I never have been and never will be. It’s funny because you’d think our people would be more welcoming (Not saying that other races love you and every-thing’s all dandy, that’s not the case) and understanding since we do share the same past right? WRONG. I suffer more racism from black people than I do anybody else. The only people I’ve ever heard use the N-word are in fact black people and it makes no sense that you demand respect but you can’t begin with yourself.
Why should anybody take you seriously, when you kill off your own brother with words, and slurs. When you’d rather “gang-bang” in the streets than get a serious education. You wait in line at the mall for those old Jordan’s, but you can’t wait and stand up for something that’s right, like mending our broken culture.
I don’t claim being AFRICAN-American because I’m not. I get offended when people talk about me being from Africa. I never stepped on African soil so how on earth am I African American. I’m just American. A brown American struggling to find a crevice to slide in so I can hide myself from all the negativity that parades around in black skin. Have you ever noticed that when you fill out a job application, or survey and it asks for your race there are always two bubbles: African American OR Black…I’m always relieved to know someone knows the difference between the two but then I wonder..What’s black exactly.
I love being different, but what’s the point of trying to be more than the stereotype when that’s all people will see at first glance. I don’t dress like the stereotype. I don’t be-friend the stereotype (No matter how stuck-up that makes me seem. I promise I’m nice as can be) and I most certainly don’t fit in the mold. 
I’m too beautiful to be cast into the mold that’s defined blacks for years. Blacks are always the subject of something, and most recently it’s been the Trayvon Martin case. Why can’t we be the highlight of something more positive. We need more Oprah’s. More Tyler Perry’s (he’s actually started to highlight more negatives in the black race than anything) so maybe more Langston Hughes type men. We love a poet you know.
What do you think? Do you struggle with the color of your skin? Are you feeling over-shadowed by all the common black stereotypes? Do you want to be known for more than the color of your skin?
This is Part one of the Brown War
Permalink dexterstruancyproblem:

James Franco by Lance Staedler

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Shawn and Angela
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Keep your head high