For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Homicide When ‘Go Away’ Wasn’t Enough

By Kyla Lacey

Yesterday I wrote this post on Facebook about what straight men can do to not be harassed:

And then it happened.

Sit down, it’s story time folks.

While walking through Honolulu with my mom, I see a guy about to break his neck staring at me, while my mother and I are talking to this lady who was sober at the time, but couldn’t wait to get home to open up a paper bag and change her status.

I mistakenly make eye contact with him–Dammit Ky!!!!–I then immediately have to countermaneuver and hit him with the upside down smile (you know the one that’s not completely a frown, more like a pity smile, like “I see you, but I don’t really want to, but I’m not a complete bitch, because society tells me that I’m wrong if I don’t be polite,” smile. The Dikembe Mutombo of smiles, if you will.)

He then comes over and interrupts the conversation, to tell me what I don’t want to hear. I thank him, and respond with the “yes, I’m taken,” line, because men respect other men way more than they respect a “No, I’m not physically attracted to you, your energy is whack. Is that a stocking cap underneath your leather off brand Kangol? Why are you wearing a leatheresque hat in the summer in Hawaii though! Why are you wearing that at all? Not to mention–I got enough trouble on the mainland. Naw bruh.”

He chats up my mother because she loves Hawaii and he is a construction worker who just moved there. He bids us goodbye with the tag line,” let me know if that position opens up and I will fill it”, and in my head I’m like “ummmmmmmm pineapples,” cause I was not even remotely turned on, plus it’s Hawaii and I’m hungry and I really like pineapples. My mother and I say goodbye, and go about our way.

The next morning at 6 am, I ran downstairs to move the rental car because parking in Honolulu is the shittiest of the shit, and whom do I see? It’s James, your overly friendly neighborhood construction worker. I say good morning, and try not to engage in conversation, but before I could walk away, he feels that we have engaged in enough conversation that he can flip my hat. I’m kinda irritated at this point because:

  1. I have morning fro, and I have on a hat for a reason, and I ain’t trying to go out like that on Waikiki Beach.
  2. Why are you touching my hat? Fuck you James! Didn’t I just tell you I have an imaginary boyfriend and now he’s gonna kick your ass!!!!!

I go back to the room, and do some cool shit with my mom. We go to the beach and on the way back to the hotel, whom do we see again, You guessed it–motha fucking James, chatting up a woman on the street, because… you know, that’s obviously his modus operandi. I tell my mom, “there’s your boy James.” She then yells across the street, “HEY James! ,” in the funniest cockblocking innocence. I politely wave, as he greets the both of us. He then immediately ditched the chick he was just with on some Usher ’97 shit and begins following my mother and me.

“She’s got a glow, today. Is it because of me?”James asks my mother as he looks at me. Again, the Mutombo smile comes, and my mother responds, “she’s always that beautiful.”

Fucking right mom! You tell his ass! “It’s not because I’m making her blush?”

FRESH DOLE PLANTATION PINEAPPLES, it’s cause I just had Skype sex with imaginary boyfriend.

I respond, “no.”

We begin to cross the street and then he reaches out his hand to pat me on my head like I’m his little bitch. “Let me touch this Afro!” I firmly–but without raising my voice–respond, as I move my head, “Don’t touch my hair!”

“What’s wrong? You mad now?” He retorts.

“No, I just don’t like people I don’t know touching me.

What do you mean? I’m your friend.”

“No, you are not!!!!”

“Of course I’m your friend, this is our third time seeing each other.”


“I just said don’t touch hair!” I reminded James

“Oh so you got an attitude now?”

“I told you not to fucking touch me and then you did it again!”

He then crosses the other way, as he sees me get angry. My mother tries to smooth it out by telling him that I’m fine. Naw fuck all that, cause I wasn’t fine. Cause I live in a society where i have to make people feel comfortable about making me feel uncomfortable. Cause people make you feel like you have to negotiate your own body and autonomy.

I am not a hostage! Ain’t no negotiations bih!!!!!

Fuck patriarchy, fuck politeness, fuck James, fuck his fucked up mustache, fuck his momma and daddy for fucking and making someone who can’t keep his hands to his fucking self and fuck my curls for being so doubly irresistible, cause you know–victim shaming and shit.

(Calls up imaginary boyfriend to fuck)

About the author

Kyla Jenee Lacey is primarily a spoken word artist who has performed at over 100 colleges and universities in over 30 states. Her first poem was published when she was ten years old. She has been a three time finalist in the largest regional poetry slam in the country and nominated for numerous awards for college performers. She has a modest Facebook following due to her slight humor, her love for logic, her cynicism and love for cats. She is also feminist, blacktivist, LGBT ally, budding blogger and tree hugger. twitter: Kyla_Lacey Instagram: frequentfly_her

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