I have been single for about 11 months now. A long, interesting 11 months that have bought me to my lowest and highest. I've felt the highest of highs and now i am beginning to feel the lowest of lows. I've learned so much, lessons I could've gone years without learning. First lesson is that people are horrible and confusing. I am see through, I am open, I am expressive, but the people are encounter are black, scarred and closed off. I read a tweet yesterday that said "Spiritual women always attract people who need healing". Nothing has made more sense to me. I am always trying to be someone's light, their rock. This is my biggest downfall, for I am not light. I am a human. I have flesh. I have feelings. I get hurt; I am not indestructible. I keep taking blows to the gates of my heart and soon I'll be bleeding. Why do people hide ? Why do people deny their truth? Why are we so afraid of the pure at heart ? I believe it is because we think they don't exist. We think good people don't exist anymore but here I am. I am loving, refreshing, giving and very willing. The pure at heart exist. I AM HERE. I AM REAL. I AM DESERVING. I am unreal. No one sees me. They don't see what I am, the kind of power I hold inside of me. I can love the whole universe and still have more to give. I can hold my lover together as they fall apart. I can make a brokenhearted person feel renewed. So why do people run ? Am I a monster ? Or am I a ball of energy that blinds the weak at soul ?
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You're really dumb. Not now, I mean you're 18 and you can finally see. But two years ago, you were dumb. The dumbest person I know. You hid from people, from anyone that got too close. You were content with being alone, you were 16 and alone and okay. Now you're 18 and alone and a fucking tragedy. What happened to you ? I want to say love fucked you over, that love is horrible. But it's not, that would be a very bitter lie. It's who you chose. It's who you chose to open your heart and legs too. Why are you so fucking stupid, Precious ? Why didn't you see it ? WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING DUMB. But you're not a victim, you're a dummy. For believing sweet lies and half ass actions. For kissing her lips and liking it. For laying on her chest and calling her home. For introducing her to all your favorite restaurants. For teaching her how to love herself and you. And now look at you. You dumb, naive bitch. You're alone, confused, broken. Precious, why didn't you listen to your old friends all those months ago ? They warned you, but you cried and defended someone who ignores you like you're nothing. Oh Precious why did you let your walls down ? You were so trusting, so pure, so everlasting. But Precious you don't look the same. Your glow is gone now. Your mind is haunted with depression and thoughts of submerging yourself in water. She's not home, Precious. She is your death. She is your enemy. She is your cancer. Please do not let her kill you.
As February came to a close, the time of the year was over when schools forced me to reflect on my blackness. It’s back to an all white history, in a white dominated country. But let’s reverse, let’s talk about how it feels to be black. As a black female in the 21st Century, I can say that being black is much easier now than during Martin Luther King’s lifetime. However, I have a whole new set of struggles. I am often asked how I feel as a black female in 2016, and the only response I can elicit is that I feel tired. I am tired of hearing stories of unarmed black men being killed. I am tired of hearing that white privilege doesn’t exist. I am tired of hearing Tamir Rice deserved it. I am tired of hearing Sandra Bland killed herself. So what is the truth in being black? It’s being tired, underestimated and misrepresented.
Now do not get me wrong, I love my blackness. I love my wide hips, big lips and melanin. However, the struggles I face, ones that you can only understand once you experience them yourself, shake my confidence. One thing I remember is the case of Trayvon Martin, the case that shook the world. Trayvon was a young man in Florida that was walking home with a black hoodie on, carrying an Arizona and skittles. George Zimmerman, a 200-pound Florida native shot Trayvon in his chest, killing him. Trayvon was 17 years old on that fateful day. The world watched the trial and watched how the media portrayed Trayvon as a thug who deserved to be shot. The world was disgusted, the black community had had enough. This is when the uprise started, this is when we began to take a clear look at the place we called home. We were misrepresented, we were neglected and we were treated as second class citizens. Many Americans made it their job to support Trayvon Martin’s family; most showed support by wearing a black hoodie. Many also took to social media to show their support. One of the more popular movements surrounding the death of Mike Brown, who was famously killed in Ferguson, Mo, was “IfTheyGunnedMeDown”. This particular hashtag satirized how Trayvon was portrayed in the media using pictures from his social media and not accurately portraying his entire personality. If only we knew that Trayvon was just the beginning of many unreasonable deaths of blacks. A more recent case that shook the world was Sandra Bland. Sandra was a young woman in Texas who was arrested after being pulled over. Two days later she was found dead in her cell. The police station ruled it as a suicide, saying she hung herself. However, questions started to arise on the validity of the police’s investigation. How is it that Sandra Bland hung herself when it would’ve been virtually impossible due to her tall stature? Also, why would she kill herself, what would drive a passionate activist to kill themselves in a jail cell ? These questions remain unanswered, and few believe the police’s story. To some Sandra Bland was another person lost to suicide, however, to many, Bland is another victim of the widespread and public police brutality which has been so prominent these past three years. It is painfully sad that one after the other black life is lost, their voice forgotten and their life cut short. So as a black person I not only celebrated Black History month as a time to reflect on the past but also reflect on the present. There is still more to fight for, there are still questions to be answered. No longer can we hide behind the facade of racial equality; it is up to us as a society to correct our wrong doings and stop unjustly killings of black lives. The winter has finally returned. The cold is back, with a vengeance. You were the summer. The heat, the sun and the tan that is sprinkled on my skin. But winter has returned and you are gone without a trace. I want to say we went through the fall, that the transition was easy and pain-less. But I can't lie. The winter hit me on my chest and shattered every bone in my body. There was no beautiful ending. It was a truthful, hurtful process that left me with a hole in my heart. I want to blame you'. I want to hate you, to fucking kill you. But I'm more angry at me. For believing you loved me, for giving myself to you like I had never done before and for trusting you. I was a fool, I thought the heat would last; that you would always keep me glowing. Instead you told me how my soul was no longer of concern and how my vagina was now of upmost importance. My thoughts no longer mattered, my struggles were no longer interesting. Instead I had to be fucking you, for you to give a fuck. Dear summer, I fucking hate you. Don't return. Let winter seep into my bones and let my body get used to the cold. This tan will fade, my love will fade but my hate will only get stronger.
I am not your friend. I will not pretend to be. Throughout my life I have befriended non-POC's, I saw no issue with them. But as my eyes open to the social issues around me, that affect POC's, I can see that many white people don't get it. They do not fucking get it. As a budding activist I refuse to surround myself with people who still defend unlawful murders of African Americans. I refuse to be quiet anymore and to dust it off my shoulder by saying, "everyone has their own opinion. FUCK YOUR OPINION. I am outraged, I am hurt, I am discouraged. If you are a white person that is not socially aware, I will NOT be your friend, Your ignorance will poison my soul.
Care-free, the model care-free black girl. This means as a black woman, I don't feel the need to meet certain requirements society sets for me. Society says my kinky hair is too large for corporate America, well I guess corporate America isn't ready for this black girl. Society says I shouldn't laugh so loud, well I'm going to laugh my loudest in public. Why must I conform ? If my skin was lighter would that be okay, if my hair was straight would that please you ? Being care-free means that I will break the shackles I was born with. Being care-free means that I will aspire to reach the goals I set out for myself. Not the goals my family says I have to meet, not the goals the education system says I am capable of. I believe I can do any and everything, that living a care-free life is for any color. I refuse to walk the streets afraid, looking over my shoulder feeling like I am being watched. I will live for today, tomorrow and any other day that is granted to me. I will dedicate my time to helping other black girls achieve their dreams and reach self-actualization. I will live the life my grandmother could only dream of, the life my ancestors died for. I am care-free, I am a care-free black girl.
A couple of months ago I was walking to by myself a sandwich, as I walked two young white men stared me down. I felt a sense of comfort leave my body and I just wanted to run and hide. Before I could, one of them came up to me and asked for my number. I was shocked, flattered and a bit horrified. Quite a mix of emotions right ? But the first thing that came to mind was, "a white man that likes black girls, what's wrong with him?'. Now of course if it was a male of any other ethnicity I would have just brushed them off my shoulder, but coming from a white male it was kind of empowering. As I write this I feel disgusted with myself, like the 1930s came and smacked me in the face. What is it about a white male finding me attractive that terrified me so deeply ? When those two men looked at me I felt naked, vulnerable. However I live in a generation where we are open minded, but I know many black girls that turn up their nose at white men. White men have always been a threat to black women and that ideal has followed black women till this day. White men hit a nerve inside of me, this deep fear that makes me want to run. As a black woman, I believe white men won't like me due to my wide hips, curly hair and ethnic background. I mean why have Kiesha when you can have Amanda ? That thought process, those ideals stem so deeply from self hate that blacks have carried on their shoulders since slavery. I consciously believe that no white male or even white female will find me appealing due to my skin color and culture. So black girls, do something I could never do. Kiss a white boy (or white girl). Stop being ashamed of your wide hips, your wild hair and your juicy lips. White guys are actually interested in you, you are good enough for white males or any male for that matter. Living black is not easy but it sure as hell provides a lesson each day.
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