started a new tumblr
pce out to this one
msg me if you want it
stood over the boy with his cop shoes in childish blood
and a voice said “Die you little motherfucker” and
there are tapes to prove that. At his trial
this policeman and in his own defense
“I didn’t notice the size or nothing else
only the color.” and
there are tapes to prove that, too.
Today that 37-year-old white man with 13 years of police forcing
has been set free
by 11 white men who said they were satisfied
justice had been done
and one black woman who said
“They convinced me” meaning
they had dragged her 4’10” black woman’s frame
over the hot coals of four centuries of white male approval
until she let go the first real power she ever had
and lined her own womb with cement
to make a graveyard for our children.
I often hear black girls complain that their hair is difficult to control, and it’s precisely because we are not meant to control it.
I have always found that jeans hurt my body with waistlines digging into my stomach as I try to exhale.
T shirts that cut into my arms, bras that dig into my flesh leaving scars that remain today.
We were not the architects of this system, of course these things won’t fit us when they come from people who refuse to acknowledge that we exist. We know this because we see their runways, their print ads, their magazines. We are not wrong.
Beige is not the definition of ‘nude’, my hair does not need to be restrained, it needs to be liberated. My hair isn’t so thick, I didn’t go through puberty too early, my mama is not ‘plus sized’ - these statement all use an invented standard of whiteness and then define me in relation to that standard.
Fuck mainstream. Fuck counter culture and sub culture. We are our own mainstream. We are our own culture.
Fuck standards and constructions of normal. Nothing ever grew by being measured. We grow by being nurtured and affirmed for who we are as we are. Standards are always relative.
-Kim Katrin Crosby
We’re at the point in my night where my mind is consumed by thoughts of sex and wondering why the fuck I don’t have any ice cream.
my school is screening Zanele Muholi’s film, Difficult Love
I thought it was going to be cool except the entire audience is old saltines and I just cant shake the feeling that they’re all finding it “fascinating”
like fascinating like black queer women in south africa are like these interesting creatures lets all gather around and ponder their lifestyles
ugh I had to walk out I am so uncomfortable
it was like they were watching a NatGeo special on ants or something I want to puke