Here’s to the carefree black girls who make mistakes. To the girls who drown their depression with one too many shots and throw up at their ex’s feet, the girls who reblog natural hair but tug at their 4c roots, wishing it were long, straight, good.
Here’s to the girls who might like girls and who tell other girls that ‘It gets better!’— Meanwhile they’re healing the bruises of their mothers’ ‘God can change you!’
Here’s to the girls who have stopped going to church but not stopped looking for God: to the girls who lie awake panicking that they’re going to hell.
Here’s to the girls who can’t bring themselves to watch Sandra Bland, who’ve stopped reblogging Black Lives Matter because they’ve gone numb. Here’s to the girls who clench their fists when white people walk by and the girls who secretly wonder if black girls deserve it.
Here’s to the girls whose mothers have given them containers of sticky yellow skin bleach. Here’s to the girls who use it ‘only to clear acne scars’ but who relish in the fact that their new skin glows in the darkness.
Here’s to the girls whose acne scars form angry red constellations, the girls who sleep in makeup and the girls too afraid to wear short sleeves; no one told you that those scars can reach the elbow.
Here’s to the girls who wish they were boys but never want to be men, and the girls who squeeze their legs together whenever a man walks by. Here’s to girls who flinch in the mirror.
Here’s to the girls who are so damn tired. Here’s to the girls who are so damn manic.
Here’s to the girls who are so damn fat and so damn skinny on the same day.
Here’s to the girls who can’t go on but go on, who preach forgiveness but can’t forgive themselves.
Here’s to the carefree black girls whose freedom comes at a price. Here’s to the carefree black girls who never feel carefree.
cut anyone and everyone out of your life that makes you feel small, hurt, humiliated, stupid, worthless, etc. do it swiftly and violently and without remorse.
I honestly don’t understand this.Are we supposed to hate who we are? Where would we be if we didn’t have pride for our race, and let people who say this, bring us down? But okay.
me before i started watching food network: i made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
me now: what i've made for you today is a rustic-style raspberry reduction, garnished with a smooth roasted peanut spread, spread across a thick slice of white bread with another slice of bread holding the flavors in place. really, what i'm doing this for is my dad...he was always a chef, he's the reason i started cooking, and i know (sniff) i know if he was alive he'd want to see me win Chopped so i could continue working for the local urban garden café for sad children