Day 56 continued: Town hall

Today my heart bleeds for hip hop. I realize that the communities that breed the lyrics that I so casually listen to are in dire need of change. Don Imus is the tip of the ice burg. There are many rappers today that I consider to be true artists....50 cent is not one of them. There are artists within the hip hop community that I consider poets....Lil' Kim doesn't fall in that category. I feel that the problem begins with the way we view and treat not only women but parts of the African American culture in general. I feel responsible for allowing the denegration of my sisters to continue. To be labeled a ho, a slut, a bitch, a tramp, an n word, is not acceptable in my book....yet I have allowed it to flow from my speakers into my mind. For what? No redeeming value whatsoever. For my black female friends out there, I apologize. I never realized the hurt and confusion it must have caused you. And I bleed for you. For your trampled self-esteem....for the nights that you yearned for more yet could not achieve because society let you know full out what they thought your true worth was..... And for my black male friends....to you I say rise up and examine what you are allowing to pollute your thinking. You are wonderful, spiritual men that deserve to know that you are not only worth more than denegrading any woman and that your value does not lie in how much money you make or what kind of car you drive.

It's time for a change. It's time that we all stand up and demand more. Yes it's entertainment...but at what cost?

I'm not a poet, but I was inspired to write these words:

I don't know how to express myself
About the mess that I helped create, myself
My heart bleeds for the hip hop community
I hope their worth more than it's made out to be....

What is the definition of a ho?
To be honest, I don't know
Could she be turned into a housewife
Or is she doomed to live a life of strife?

The words hurt my sisters far and near
It's what they've learned to expect and to hear
from the men that they may one day call love....
How can we expect our women to rise above?

How do we raise up and demand more?
America, we are fighting a war...
Not overseas but inside
I shudder to think of the tears my sisters have cried

I don't know how to express myself in rhyme
Perhaps it is something that will come in time
Funny thing, I wouldn't sell a hit
Because even I can see that it means only a bit...

What I have expressed deep within
Is not exactly the end
I begin to examine my actions....
And determine that hurt is not worth entertainment's satisfaction