For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow - Snap Shot Press Release

ALl Images by jenny plevin

Art has many purposes but it honors its truest form when it reflects the intricacies of reality in its full spectrum. 

Friday’s [ August 9th, 2024] performance of  For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf, by Ntozake Shange (1948-2018), directed by Linetta Alexander, championed the creativity of Black Women by pulling at the intimate language of shared “resilience, pain, and triumph”. This modern take on social positioning in a patriarchal society redefines the way sista-hood connotes an unyielding survival that deserves joy and is joy.

Alexander has taken the various “Ladies in [asigned color]” and has allowed them to deliver narratives that enter the soul, swell the eyes, and clench palms until they release with relief, like a group therapy session. How they sashay across the stage, support each other stories, and give room for each actor to breathe is no easy feat. You may know the play, but as much as it serves Shange’s original commentary on oppression in a racist and sexist society, this manifestation confronts the peculiarities of the digital age [smart phones, ring cameras, social media, etc.] that make these realities much more invasive and counter-intuitive to healing. 

The setting is composed of urban Milwaukee [#WeSeeYou Brady St.] with the transientness of pedestrian crossing where we encounter each color dealing in their reflective monologue and sharing their inner thoughts [If yall want to give us that bus shelter when you are done, we would happily accept]. This storytelling in its contemporary choreo-poem form is best supported by Lady in Green's [Brielle Richmond] seductive chair dance, Lady in Blue’s [Tina Nixon] heart-breaking abortion silhouette, and Lady in Red’s [Gabrielle Veronique] symbolic baby blanket drop [The way you stressed me out is unforgivable LOL]. 

However, the balance of youthful vulnerability from Lady in Brown [Selena Mcknight] and Lady in Yellow [Deja Taylor], are reminders that whatever trauma we have endured are not the only memories that should take up space. The confidence of worlds yet concurred and unjaded love [or lust] holds magic. Lady in Purple [Brandy Reed] and Lady in Orange [Tosha Freeman] embrace in the open mic night scene was also a moment of reflective forgiveness. How do we age into our understanding of self? How do we fall victim and villain in a world that does not play fair? We need each other and without giving up all the symbolic and metaphorical gems, I will say, we must do better by each other [so if I have ever harmed you, purposefully or unknowing, I am truly sorry]. 

This artistic collaboration from Shange to Alexander, Alexander to the performing ladies, stage to audience, is a must. These are the narratives we have culturally avoided and thus, the harm continues to generationally impact our experiences. Their dedication to authentic relationship building is seen, their embodiment of their roles is spot on, and their lived experience as women of color is inestimable. This work is clearly ours to do together.

So today I challenge you to start your healing, get your tickets to For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf, and see the world in color!

Lexi S. Brunson  | Editor-in-Chief /CW

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Performance Dates: 

August 8 – 12, 15 – 16, 22 – 25 | 7:30pm, Wilson Theater at Vogel Hall, Marcus Center

Life Outro | Poem by Vato Vergara

Blank thoughts
Black Minded
Expectations of self and surroundings
Judgement creeps
But the heart yearns
Lust of life
Or
Life of lust
Fear of being alone
Today gone and yesterday forgotten
Promises and secrets soon come to light
But feels dark to be in the spotlight
Again fear of being alone
So many people will know me
But I will never speak
Distant from love and pain
Breathing my own air
These trees give me life
Until chopped down
Back to the world of reality
Because it’s temporary
Short term or long term
Be ready for your turn
You only can be guided
Know who you choose
Time will only tell
Growth will only heal
Life is how we live

Because once we’re gone
They still have life to live

/Vato Vergara @vatovergara

To all my users, political, professional | Poem by Lauren N. Graniela @revampista

I am used
I sacrifice my comfort
but I am not worth the smallest of your discomfort

I am used
I sacrifice my time
but I am not worth the smallest of your time

I am a stepping stone
for your successes
but you are a boulder added to my uphill load

But I am reciprocity
and I will roll until I can fly

To all my users, political, professional

/Lauren N. Graniela @revampista

Kaleidoscopes & Tightropes | Poem by Brit Nicole @poeticallybrit

Kaleidoscopes & Tightropes

I let you go.

Slipping through my fingers

Like water on the run

You were never mine to catch

Knew it from the moment we met

We smiled and I saw the future

Friends forever? maybe

Lovers? Not yet

I'm way too awkward to have swag

Just brought along my pen and pad

Thought to make use of my offering

In an attempt amuse you

Muse you, include you

Until I started writing dope lines that infused you

For when I couldn't muster up a simple "hello"

Started sending silly little love notes

That allowed you access to my psyche

Not sure how far I wanted this to go

The lies we tell ourselves

If anything, the heart always knows

We commenced, the writing was on the wall

An enigma became us

Curiosity led me to fall

Kaleidoscopes and tightropes

My nerves went through it all

Late nights, early mornings

Still, I knew something was wrong

I would scribble your name in my melody

Until you became my song

Set the track on repeat

So you could always put me on

Closed my eyes for just a moment

It was no surprise, you were gone

I must be that sucker for love

Who longs for the many signs

Like the ribbon in the sky

Chasing the clouds

Begging for their blessing

To let your heart find mine

Playing devil's advocate to my own lies

As the truth played back

While I laid back in my own mind

"He's not the one"

So I ask myself, what am I doing

Why even try

To love without relent

If in the end you say goodbye

Encountering a mental deficit

From poor emotional investment

Growing weary from my giving

But in my giving, I'm strengthened within

In the name of love or something like it

I'd do it all over again

Though it's getting harder to breathe

Do not be deceived

If chance should acquaint me once more, I will not hesitate

This is me saying yes to love again before I suffocate.

/Brit Nicole @poeticallybrit

#SoWasYouReallySleepingAtYourBrothersHouse| Poem by Diana Mora @natureallydye

I asked for someone to pour into me

As much as I poured into

myself

I know 

I’ve been selfish 

Still you renamed me 

Dye

I’ll let you leave with the credit of that

A star in your dark sky

You claimed light

Just a star in 

your galaxy 

holds many

Poems I wrote on your birthday 

Where I named 

“As warm as RAH”

Would’ve been dead enough 

Should’ve been enough 

I thought that the shared pain of people leaving us on the 7th day of the 3rd month

Was enough 

Pain exchanged 

Feel your hurt 

So I could heal you ?

Ever felt mine ?

Thinking the Gods did that for us

That’s what you Mumbled 

As

Your

Tears were heard through phones

Protect me

Protect me 

Protect me

Protect me

Protect me

Protect me

Protect me

Protect me

Protect me

Protect me

Yet the protection that came with the contract you disclosed had me sign

Then VOID !

Never having a chance to call this our own

Never having the chance to call my insides your home

It don’t even hurt the same

Poems don’t even flow the same

Because 

Fuck Niggas

Think Their

Godly Niggas

But

Fuck Niggas 

And Fuck Niggas

Is ironically spelled the same way 

Yet means totally different things

Fuck Niggas ain’t shit

I hate Fuck Niggas

Totally different content 

Yet 

You seem to have fallen under both catalogs 

“What you beg me for fuck nigga ?”

“Why’d he ask me to change”

“FUCK NIGGAS”

I said to myself as I looked in the mirror

Fuck Niggas 

As I grabbed 

My chest 

Pain 

Silent promises 

We made

Turned into

 Loud 

Truthful lies

In front of everybody 

Yet

Again

“DYE DON’T YOU FUCKIN CRY”

I weeped on that floor

I believed in you  

“That was it for you”

I repeated in my pulse

I almost gave myself to you

I almost gave myself to you 

Explain to me why 

I felt bad for loving him too

Explain to me why that night I laid with him as the sky changed from dark blue to light blue

 I called you 

I felt bad for betraying you

I felt bad for telling him I love you

I felt bad for telling YOU I loved him too

Now look at you ?

I was going to teach how to move your earth..??

IT HURTS !!!!

I think you know me enough to know

My poems don’t ever have to Rhyme

That 

My love 

My being 

Had never made sense till the day 

I saw my reflection in your eyes 

Ask me again why I can’t look in your eyes ?

I see bad parts of

Me when

 I look at you

So

I stopped writing poems

I told you everything 

Even when it was hard

Even when it hurt

Even when it was ugly

You beat at my spirit 

As I allowed you

You lied to my face

You lie to yourself

You deny me

You deny your soul

You hurt me

You hurt 

Yourself 

I poured into you

You

Drained 

My well

You change the spelling in my name from Die /D/i/e to Dye D/y/e

Now allow me to reintroduced 

My name is Dye

And she told me to remind you 

That

every so often 

Poems I wrote you 

Would end with

Who are you ?

And where did you come from..

You are nothing to me

And it no longer matters where you come from

Because 

I hold the power to send you to 

Hell..

I’ll spare you 

In hopes 

that you realize that

One day

You 

Need

You

As much as them hoes needs you

#SoWasYouReallySleepingAtYourBrothersHouse..

/Diana Mora @naturallydye

/CW Archive: Box of Markers | Poem by Jeronica Brister @__lovejeronica

Here is poem form the /CW archive by one of our local faves Jeronica Brister. This poem was first published in Issue two of CopyWrite Magazine: Pen & Paper. Since then we have had the pleasure of seeing Jeronica grow as creative and quite an extraordinary soul.

/CW

Dear Heart | Poem by Geronimo Ronin @blackyojimbo84

Dear Heart

 Dear Heart,

  Where do I even begin?

I pray for courage as I purge these thoughts,

And as I peer from within,

There’s much to address,

And if this chapter must close,

There are some things I have to say out loud,

Some truths that you must know. 

  Dear Heart,

  I was wrong! How many wrongs can I right?

How many days can I fight longing and wanting?

Missing your embrace your touch and laugh,

But they seem like echoing apparitions haunting my senses,

I stand looking at the desolation from the aftermath,

Of false statements and half-truths,

That took something so pure and made it mephitic,

ACIDIC,

I can’t stand looking at myself sometimes,

Trying to extend myself grace 

It’s my only chance at redemption,

And your contempt is warranted,

And my loneliness: a just sentence. 

Dear Heart,

 The say love is a battlefield,

I thought I was battle tested,

And I understood that time, and honesty, and care was all you requested,

I heard once that all is fair in love and war,

But no one expects to be hit with friendly fire,

I should’ve watched my aim,

I should’ve used safety with a loaded gun,

Instead of leaving you wounded,

In shock because of whom the shot came from

Dear Heart,

  I was cavalier and callous at times,

Biding my time as if the only affected was mines,

But broken clocks don’t keep track of time wasted,

Or time lost, or time unaccounted for,

Where time and time again all you asked was that when it came to other lovers,

NEVER! NO MORE. 

And for my recklessness and carelessness for my past crimes,

I have hurt a heart because I hurt hearts,

I didn’t know that last time would be the LAST TIME.

  Dear Heart,

  I can’t ask you to forgive me,

You’re erasing me to forget me,

Soon I’ll just be an unwanted memory,

A reminder of again why love isn’t hard,

But the people who fail to recognize and respect its purity,

A man of many words but failed to be a man of my word,

How absurd!

I stare at pictures of you and me and the gut-wrenching feeling….

Dear Heart, I’m so disturbed

  Dear Heart,

  This is goodbye forever, Adios!

I’ve lost many in my lifetime, but I’ll miss you the most,

Te’amo mi Corazon. I hope if you’ve moved on,

That they cherish your thoughtfulness and humor,

They learn to breathe love into you, 

And get it right where I got it wrong. 

I sit here listening to playlists you curated,

Listening to every song as a reminder of when you loved me,

Thinking had I taken the time to really study your language,

I would have known how to love you more fluently. 

No one is perfect I made my mistakes,

But how can I expect you to wait until I get it right?

My failure to move fast enough became my own personal slight.

Now I’m dead to you! Just a ghost! 

A mere remnant. 

Now you’re mere miles away yet the journey seems so distant.

So Dear Heart, please know I get it now. 

I know there’s nothing else I can do,

But press my hand on my dear heart, wondering who’s loving you.

/Geronimo Ronin @blackyojimbo84

Enough of a Woman | Poem by Lexi S. Brunson [Editor-in-Chief]

Enough of a Woman

I have been balancing without footing since the day I was created.

Chiseled from both flesh & dreams.

Perched on ideas that do not suit my fancy but instead interrogated my ability.

A cry for help

An internal struggle for redemption

in a place

no reparations shall be given.

[the strong woman's complex]

I will not snark at my uprising

of an upbringing.

For I was forged from something fierce.

Feminism at its own demise and womanizing at its most vulnerable. 

They thought I'd be the best of my bread.

I was loved from tip to toe.

I knew lust before it kissed me.

Pleasure

before it slid into my deepest depths. 

Heartbreak before it had a name. 

It was enough.

In the midst of it all I had been chosen to carry the burden to bare life.

So I would find grief in my induction into the club of red-rush between my legs.

A monthly celebration of my ripeness, that would follow with grief of misogyny.

I was upset that my gender was political. 

A statement of sexualization that I could not fight without wounds.

I could no longer be ANYTHING

I wanted to be.

[they call me woman]

I had hips, thighs, breast and an aura trained in swift battles of gender equity, pimpin, stubbornness, manipulation, and survival.

I was a dormant weapon in a fight I didn't know existed.

She was enough.

In time I was deemed ruthless. 

A temptress untouchable. 

A prize to be won, a purity to be kept.

The thought of wearing white to my matrimonial casket was torture.

I had to be dominant or be stepped on.

I navigated space with only the memory as guidance.

I had to hold my head high as if losing my paternal link had not broken me.

I had to hold my shoulders square like not having my brother's bond did not mar me.

[this is vulnerability]

I tried to find my way into the den of a wolf pack, because the testosterone smelled like comfort.

Here I would find a truth that was never meant for my eyes.

I was privy to information

that changed me

I was now loaded with arsenal that could never leave me blind

I could not unsee our curse

That behind closed doors their allegiance was never loyal

For every keeper

there were 3 throw away(s). 

For every forever

there were several for now(s).

I didn’t want to be loyal to a lie.

I didn't want to feel the pain of giving up tomorrow.

But I never betrayed the barriers

of their truth.

Until it I was sliced

by a double edged sword.

I had never been enough.

I had been cast aside

for and by my gender.

To perfect was my dismissal.

Intimidation was the poison.

I became unsuspecting wing man 

of fairy tales we publicly call goals

& privately envy.

[thus ignorance is bliss]

Ruined by options, I became an option.

A piece of a picture that had no frame.

A disregard of reality 

A word left unsaid

A speech tongueless

A happy home covered in happy homes, by way of a duck off's and funk off's.

Not a woman's woman. 

So my sisterhood would be stricken off the record.

Not a guy's girl.

So there is no ledger of platonic woe’s. 

Somewhere suspended between big cahonas & an intimidating cunt.

I suffered.

But that was not enough.

I would never bare title

So I made my own.

I would never hold rank. 

So they curse me as a martyr.

I spit back a five star general.

I bleed. Bucked. But would never fold.

It became the ego balance,

nature versus nurture.

A fight for the glory.

But my war had been started

in the womb of some other women,

in the sacrifice of some girls dreams,

in the blitz of some man's play.

Still I stand idol

Abusing my lineage

Willing to sign a peace treaty for the next woman's altar.

So she may never have to 

spill her own blood.

And yet still there leaves the question…

Is there ever enough of a WOMAN?

Lexi for /CW

Celebrate April 2021 National Poetry Month w/ CopyWrite Magazine

All month long CopyWrite Magazine will be dropping lines from some of our favorite poets, giving you a taste of CW poetry nostalgia, fun facts about our poetry roots, and more!

Have a poem you would like to share?

Submit your poetry to copywrite.mke@gmail.com

Creatives in a Quarantine Blog Forum

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