Beyonce in a white mans world- a reflection on Morgan Parker

This entire collection of poems by Morgan Parker is riddled with themes of sex, oppression, liberation, magic, and our bodies as black women.

Every word she wrote was a statement, straightforward and to the point. And though the meanings of her words resonated with me almost instantly, she still gave wiggle room for interpretation. Almost as thought she was simultaneously redefining poetry along with our societal image of black women. I found this style of writing very refreshing, as it leans away from the flowery metaphors that I often associate with poetry.

Throughout my time with this book, I was consistently reminded of the relationships in my past.
I am young, and brown, and gorgeous.
The men that have loved me have also wanted to posses me. Every. Single. Time.
The last one was a white man. He used to tell me that I as beautiful. That I was his. I would be, forever.
And while I dealt with the dealings that black women do every day in America, he would sit back filled with satisfaction because he had scored a black girl. He would rap along to Kendrick with me while we rolled fat joints in his car.
Exotic. Erotic.

In the sunlight 
my captors 
drink African hibiscus - Hottentot Venus

It has always baffled me, the fact that people think love is ownership. That black women (and most women) are taught that our bodies do not truly belong to us, and that most of us still haven't learned better.

In the heat, less is everything: respect, power, mouths, sex. All of it is taken from me. 

I still haven't.
I reek of self confidence and love, but when I tell a man that I don't want to have sex and he keeps nagging, I often find myself compelled to meet his every need. As though his satisfaction validates me as a woman. As though the male gaze is all we live for.

Something like the Holy Spirit
Pours you over bruised ice
There isn’t anything more to say than holy
Beautiful men never looking upon me - Lush Life 

The theme of possession continues as she continues to explore black bodies in her work. One line that stood out to me in Beyonce Is Sorry For What She Won't Feel was

While I pick her hair , she cries
I say, Never give them
What they want, when they want it

It reminded me of my grandmother braiding my hair. Poppin' me on the scalp with the brush because I was being too "hard headed."

She reminded me of the fact that the old trope "beauty is pain" has been reinforced in us since we were children. You can't leave the house with your nappy hair lookin like that. What would the neighbors think? As black women, having a perpetually sore scalp is just a part of the deal.

Though Morgan brings up this theme throughout the book, she still explores liberation as a black body. Liberation under oppression.
Beyonce. An impossible standard, yet the perfect representation of this duality. Morgan beautifully laces these tragic realities with the bossiness of being a black woman. We are power. We are magic.

Please let me and the colored girls go