Poetry and personal blog – Spilling my guts to strangers

Hey, Millie Jackson

Hey, lady, where you at,

you who didn’t want to be like the others
singing ’bout “My Guy”
and living in his midnight world in Georgia?

Where you at, girl,

you who sang ’bout oral sex and love and desire
and other things women think and do
but nobody wants to hear us say,
still,
not even some women;
you who sang ’bout being pissed off,
who wrote an operetta that only had two words–
fuck you?

Girl, where you at?

You did your thing?
So really the question is,
where are we who should be wearing your mantle?
Where is Janis reincarnated,
her voice a razor cutting through the bullshit?

Where are the Nina’s
who never compromise their art?

Have all the GaGa’s of the world
run out their 15 minutes of fame?
Remember Nicki Minaj?
She used to be a mother fuckin’ monster.
Now she’s an American Idol judge–already.
Where are you rioting pussies?

If y’all are in the underground,
you need to bring your asses up to the surface.

© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013

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Comments on: "Hey, Millie Jackson" (8)

  1. Quite a rant. Liked its vivid, earthy, angry-sad tone.

  2. I enjoyed this as if a song itself, an enchantment, so if they do not rise up, at least the memories will! I remember the freedom of those public seductions and their language, and have grown prudish with age–but in your poem I grinned a lot.

  3. Thank you for introducing me to Millie, Adriene. I agree, I want to hear more from those strong women’s voices.

  4. Yes! my sister & I used to sneak & listen to Mama’s Millie Jackson records when she was away & snicker every times she said a dirty word … we giggled a lot! thanks for the memories

    • My pleasure. xox I was coming into my own when Millie was poplar and just loved to hear a woman speaking her truth. (Some years earlier, I had to sneak to listen to Richard Pryor, but that’s another story …)

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