“For, you see, he had found his center, his own center, inside him: and it showed. He wasn’t anybody’s nigger. And that’s a crime, in this fucking free country. You’re suppose to be somebody’s nigger. And if you’re nobody’s nigger, you’re a bad nigger…”
– If Beale Street could Talk by James Baldwin
I’ve sat here for a long time, trying to think of the right way to word this. I thought, because I don’t want to offend. I don’t want to hurt feelings. I didn’t want to sound angry. I didn’t want to sound like I’m placing blame. Because at the end of the day, I’m not an angry chick. I’m not a chick that passes the buck. But I do have some shit to get off my chest, so bear with me.
When you’re a woman, it is incumbent upon you to belong. You’re supposed to find your role, and fill it to the best of your ability. That’s it. Know your role and play it. Your worth is all but immaterial. Not outside of its very cliche usage in that you know enough of your worth to perform your role properly and nothing more. Then, on some unfortunate day, you realize that the deck is stacked and the dice are loaded. Regardless of your “role,” if you want anything in this world as a woman, you have to make yourself somebody’s bitch. And if you’re not content being somebody’s bitch, then you’re a bad bitch.
I’ve always struggled with belonging somewhere. When the day came that I found my center, I realized that I don’t have to belong. I saw the consequences that came with refusing to be somebody’s bitch, by any definition, and it didn’t scare me. I’m true to ALL of my personalities (*giggle*), and I keep it pure. I don’t fuck with people’s heads, and I don’t allow people to fuck with mine. Sometimes I apologize for being emotional, or vocal, or even demanding of the loyalty that I offer, but at the end of things, that’s who I am. No regrets.
I remember every ugly thing people told me when I wouldn’t be pigeonholed into the box of belonging. It’s amazing how quickly seemingly intelligent people resort to the pedestrian “dumb” and “ugly.” But even for those who were more exotic and imaginative with their jabs, when I looked in the mirror, I never saw what they saw. I always know that who I was, and the way I appealed to people went so much deeper than simple aesthetics. I always saw a diamond. I’m going through a hard time now, and even still, I see that light in my eyes that lets me know that whether or not I’m down matters not. I’m not OUT.
Now, does thinking like that make me a bad bitch?
You muthafuckin’ right.