'enuf'

In my English class this week we read for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf (1975). I was excited to read it, but I didn't expect to love it so much. In the prologue of the edition I have, Ntozake Shange emphasizes that this is a book for colored girls. It speaks to the pain we feel, but blesses us with the understanding that we do not feel that pain alone; it serves to connect colored girls through these shared experiences and that in itself helps bring us joy. Each color represents a different experience--sexuality, hiv/aids, sexual assault, abortion, niggas lyin, being denied love because you are a colored girl, the power in dance and music. It’s not all pain, but Shange highlights the uniqueness of black women in the way that she chooses to write her poems (the text is a choreo poem--it’s performed as a dance). She uses black dialect and doesn't write in the white man’s english, which you know i love. The context of my English course is the Black Arts Movement so I will situate a bit of my analysis in that. Writing essays for class comes with so much stress, so I wanted to write + post this so I could have fun analyzing some lines and making it about me (which i love!)

This book really inspired me. My favorite poems are “no more love poems” #3 and #4. I’m not sure how much of the poems i can put without copyright infringement #lolz, but i will put the sections that i love the most (even though it feels terrible to include these sentences out of the context of the full poem). All the slashes are used by Shange in the poem and not to indicate a line break, an artistic choice of hers that I find really cool. In “no more love poems #3” Shange writes:

“i am really colored & really sad sometimes & you hurt me more than i ever danced outta/into oblivion isnt far enuf to get outta this/”

Continuing,

“here is what i have/poems/big thighs/lil tits/ & so much love/will you take it from me this one time/please this is for you”

And then,

“Please please/this is for you/ i want you to love me/let me love you/i don’t wanna dance wit ghosts/snuggle lovers i made up in my drunkenness/ lemme love you just like i am/a colored girl/ i’m finally bein real/ no longer symmetrical & impervious to pain” (Shange, 58)

I took the line, “i am really colored”, to have a double meaning; not only is Shange, or the narrator (I feel like there’s a blending of both the character speaking ‘lady in purple’ and Shange as the author), a colored aka Black woman, she’s also colored by all of the ‘lady in so and so color’. The poems’ characters include lady in red, yellow, blue, brown etc and each of them help tell the stories in the poems. Like stated above they deal with abortion, the hiv/aids epidemic, rape, dance and music, sex, love and lack of love. The narrator is colored by all of these instances that work to shape Black womanhood in the late 60s/early 70s and…it makes her really sad sometimes. Felt queen, felt. She directs the poem to the subject, “you”, presumably an unrequited lover.

In the book, dance is understood to be a liberating thing for Black women--it fills the more joyous poems like “graduation nite” and “sechita”. It is also the basis of the performance of these poems; when performed, they are performed via dance. So saying, “ you hurt me more than i ever danced outta” tells us that even dance cannot liberate her from the pain of the hurt this person caused her. You ever feel really embarrassed for liking someone? Like embarrassment to the point of shame for even holding those feelings in your being? All I want to do is run away into oblivion, but oblivion is not far enough, my friends. Even when you try to move on the reminder pulls you back and the pain is happening all over again.

Next, the narrator lays out everything she has--she has her poems, she has a bodyodyody, and so so much love. So real, so true. She lays everything she has out for this person, begging them to take it.

“This is for you”

The narrator wants something real, she doesn't want to “snuggle lovers [she] made up in [her] drunkenness.” Y’all say to live in delusion and while delusion is fun and freeing it makes me sad to know deep down that it isn’t real. In another poem Shanges says, “i need to be loved/ & haven’t the audacity to say/ where are you/ & don’t know who to say it to” (Shange, 59). They don’t love me, they don’t want me, and who knows if anyone really does. I take these poems to be discussing romantic love, but you could argue that she’s talking about platonic love and how this is a loveless world for Black women. As I type this “RIP Luv” by 21 savage is playing…”F-U-C L-U-V”

To close this part of the poem, Shange says, “lemme love you just like i am/a colored girl/ i’m finally bein real/ no longer symmetrical & impervious to pain.” To me that speaks to the hyper-awareness I feel about being a Black woman in any situation; what preconceived notions will this person have about me? What barriers will exist because of my identity and theirs? Do I turn mine off? Can’t I? Shouldn’t I assimilate? Don’t I know how? I can be myself some other time. Here, the narrator expresses that she just wants to love the way she is. She ascribes loving as a colored girl as loving with emotion, not the “dry & abstract no rhythm & no reelin for sheer sensual pleasure” that comes with whiteness (Shange, 58). As to love from whiteness is to love with no emotion. It’s not white love she critiques, but rather the denial of love to and from Black women--from members of their own community and outsiders. The narrator is “finally bein real” and no longer acting like she doesn’t feel pain. So real. To admit that she feels pain, that she feels hurt, is to take up space. To be “symmetrical”, to not cause a stir, to be at the mercy of her unrequited lover, is to deny the fullness of her love, which makes up the fullness of her being.

So much of me “taking the punches” has been me denying to take up space. What I love about Shange’s writing is that she says the things we are not supposed to say.

We are not supposed to beg for love because it makes us look weak; we are not supposed to admit that we make up ghosts to love us because no one else will; we are not supposed to say that we are sad because we are not loved. We are not supposed to look insecure, we are not supposed to admit that we feel small, we are not supposed to embarrass ourselves.

In “no more love poems #4” Shange writes,

“I’ve lost it/ touch wit reality/i dont know who’s doin it/ i thot i waz but i waz so stupid i waz able to be hurt/ & that’s not real/not anymore/ i shd be immune/ if i’m still alive & that’s what i waz discussion/ how i am still alive & my dependency on other livin beins for love/ i survive on intimacy & tomorrow”

And then,

“& you knew abt that/ & still refused my dance waz not enuf/ & it was all i had/ but bein alive & bein a woman & bein colored is a metaphysical dilemma/ i havent conquered yet/ do you see the point/ my spirit is too ancient to understand the separation of soul & gender/ my love is too delicate to have thrown back on my face” (Shange, 59)

Half the time my crushes make me feel like I’m going insane. I don’t understand balance, I never really have. The first section I took out really feels like a tribute to how I’ve felt every time I’ve reached clarity after having a crush on someone. I also understand that feeling of thinking you’re in control, but realizing you don’t actually have the power in the situation. Ya look dumb in the end. I fear Shange has been living inside my brain. It feels so dumb, and I really feel her title “no more love poems” because I hate hate hate talking about this on here, no more! Yes self-love, we know and love her, but I think it’s admirable that at a time where ‘Black is Beautiful’ was the slogan and Black Power movements were trying to teach Black people to love their natural selves and put down the bleaching cream and perms, Shange is expressing the lack of love she feels as a Black woman. She’s questioning how crazy it is that the love she wants is dependent on another human being, which is so real. I know they were mad at her, like “girl you worried about romance, what about the revolution! Go pick your fro out” “i survive on intimacy & tomorrow”

Survive/survival is an interesting word to use; again, this is in the context of the very end of Black Arts Movement (click and skim because i’m not typing all of that) and the Black Power movement and she says her survival is rooted in intimacy--something she’s not receiving.

Shange states that her unrequited lover knew this and still “refused her dance”. As we established earlier, dance is liberation for Black women, even in all her fullness he still refused her. It wasn’t enough, she wasn’t enough. She describes being “ a woman & bein colored is a metaphysical dilemma”. That is a very charged way to describe that, lol. Metaphysical is defined as being “posited outside of human sense of perception”. Being a Black woman is a dilemma that exists beyond our material reality. I agree and disagree, I’ll disagree first because it isn't a strong disagreement, more so an interpretation discrepancy. Saying the dilemma exists beyond our material reality isn’t true because the oppression Black women face is very explicit in the reality we can perceive, however I don’t think that’s what Shange is saying.

I’ll tell you how this line made me feel. I feel extraterrestrial when it comes to existing as a Black woman in terms of love. I can debunk all other tropes by proving how smart I am, proving how kind I am, proving how talented I am, but like Shange said, we depend on other living beings for love (sans self-love) and I fear I haven’t proved anyone wrong in the romance department. But again, we’re not supposed to say this. I’m not supposed to reveal my vulnerabilities, I’m not supposed to reveal that I care, I’m supposed to pretend that I don’t have these thoughts in the not-so back of my mind.

I told you my friends, I am a lover girl, no matter how much I try to deny it, poems like these--about love, will always get my attention. I can’t help it. The narrator says she hasn’t yet “conquered” the dilemma of her coloredness. Nor have I, my friend. (Wasn’t supposed to say that.) The immediate response is that it is not something to be conquered, obviously, and we have that notion because of white supremacy blah blah blah, that doesn’t stop those feelings from existing, and then I feel guilty when they do. I don’t wanna be white, or not black, I love being a Black woman (like thank you god), but friends there are feelings… that come with this. It appears in little ways that make you think you’re going crazy. Am I going crazy? Am I making this all up? Does my Blackness play no role in my ability to attain romantic love? It’s a metaphysical dilemma because it makes no freaking sense, so yeah girl it is beyond me. Skin, texture, size, plays such a huge role in who gets love. In who feels special, in who feels wanted, in who feels seen. Do you see me?

“Do you see the point”

How do I talk about this without seeming insecure, or love-obsessed, or dramatic?

i have/poems/big thighs/big/ tits*/& you/no/no/you/

my love is thrown back in my face/ & that makes me really sad sometimes/please please/i want you to love me/i am/a colored girl/ i’m finally bein real/i am/ impervious to pain/but i waz so stupid/i waz/not enuf/ but/ i survive/do you see/my love/ it was all i had/my spirit is/bein colored is a metaphysical dilemma/but/i’m still alive/&/i/see/tomorrow

*I wrote all of this so i could change lil to big so thank you for that.