Is Hip Hop Really Your Friend?
by Sabrina Dawkins
Ted Bundy and Bill Cosby
liked them dead or unconscious:
women as just objects,
body parts,
separated from faces
and souls,
jiggling in slow motion
in rap videos, called hoes
and bitches.
And when you’ve awakened
from the Quaaludes hypnosis
of rap lyrics
you realize that you too
were the bitch he spoke of,
the body parts jiggling;
and you were the Annie
with no panties
that Erykah Badu shamed:
the whore that a bigger whore created
with empty juvenile lyrics
and fake Afro wigs,
stripped naked
where Kennedy was killed
to remain relevant.
Annie wore panties without pants
at Superbowl 50,
dressed her Black Panther
backup dancers
as whores as well.
In a blonde wig
Beyoncé was Foxxy Cleopatra for real.
And all the black girls followed her
into bad relationships with cheating rappers
or a baby mama to three,
booty-shaking black “activists”
to make a mockery of Malcolm’s movement,
led as prey
to black Ted Bundy johns
by celebrity demons in Afro and blonde wigs
mocking Stokely’s cause,
defiant with a bag full of hot sauce
and a head full of ignorance.
Is hip hop really your friend?
Or are you “Crazy in Love”
with a soul serial killer’s pen?
Brilliant