Peace , how you feeling ? Nice Blog , feels more honest than most
Love…I’m well, chasing dreams and defying odds. No complaints over here…I’m glad you like what you saw. It’s just me, posting and reblogging whatever I find interesting or amusing. I’m not out to impress anyone or gain thousands of followers, I’m just doing me…
"So it was…A little black girl yearns for the blue eyes of a little white girl…”
When I was younger, I wished, hoped and prayed for blues eyes. They were the most beautiful thing any human could have to me. A cloudless summer sky. The clear waters of a Caribbean bay. Sapphire. Azure. Perfectly faultless. Blue eyes were gorgeous. And far too pretty to witness 1st hand the harsh realities of growing up in a hostile environment. People didn’t do ‘bad’ things in front of blue eyes. Addicts didn’t get their next fix in front of blue eyes. Domestic violence didn’t take place in front of blue eyes. And no one ever told blues eyes "No".
I held onto that wish for a long time. Even getting colored contacts at 16, but not blue. Blue eyes were too pure and beautiful for me to fake possession. No, instead I got gray. They were different, my peers loved them. At that point I would have settled for green, gray, hazel, any color besides the brown eyes I felt cursed with. The color of mud. No one had ever said how pretty brown eyes were because they weren’t; they were boring.
It wasn’t until 9 months ago, while Im sitting at work, with my glasses off rubbing my tired, brown eyes that a woman, who I admire dearly, looked over at me and said: "Why don’t you wear contacts?…Your eyes are beautiful". By then I had already even up on having blue eyes and had been embracing my natural me for sometime. But the compliment still surprised me; it was one I had never heard. In my twenty-two years and 2 months on this Earth no one had ever told me my eyes were beatiful. I never told me my eyes were beautiful. She was the first. It made me think and then I found myself studying my irises in the mirror trying to see what she saw that day. I don’t know if I’ve entirely found it yet but I do know that I’m happy with what I have. So now when I do wear contacts, they’re clear; I want my brown eyes to show.
Thanks for the love and support. I really appreciate it!
No need to thanks. What you said was honest and truthful. Labels, how they are utilized and adhered to within the Black lesbian community are more detrimental than anything else. It’s self-destruction. Love is love and anyone should be able to love, date, marry, whomever they choose, openly without condemnation esp. from fellow GSMs.
“Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly, but the love a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved.”—Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye
Boi, Butch, Dom, Aggressive, Stud, Stone. Those are the labels assigned to Masculine Identified Women. But what does it mean to BE these labels? How does being masculine identified affect your quality of life and well being? The last 6 months I’ve really been analyzing how my masculinity has…
Before we are gay we are STRONG, BLACK women. There was a time when that meant love and support for our COMMON struggle and for each other.
I’m covering for a math teacher who I had. A 14 y/o black kid, D, is in the class (I know him well enough from my times covering in-school detention). I do my regular intro and warnings as to the consequences for unacceptable behavior and then D starts blurting out how the teacher doesnt like Black people (the faculty is white-washed and a vast majority don’t know how to deal with students of color). Even though I hated the woman’s guts when she taught me, I still defended her:
"She doesn’t like black people!"
"That’s not true…I’m black! She liked me! I got an A in this class"
"Well she doesnt like niggas!"
"She doesnt like niggas!"
I’ve heard his rants about racists teachers before but ‘we’ (as in only people of color) were in the room during those times. But the fact that he made this declaration in a classroom full of white kids, I was…I was…I don’t know what I was. Angry, embarrassed, and surprised. The look on the faces of the white kids in the classroom spoke volumes. They looked absolutely shocked and kind of scared waiting to see my response. I wanted to say a lot of things at that moment, so many things. How inappropriate and offensive his statement was; how as 1 of 3 black students in a class of >20 he should conduct himself better; how the vocab we use amongst ourselves and how we talk around others sometimes arent the same (I hate the N-word and personally dont use it. Everyone who knows me knows this including D). But I didn’t, at least not at that moment. I simply said “Stop it” and moved on. It wasnt the right place or time… What are parents teaching their children?
‘In 1637 near present day Groton, Connecticut, over 700 men, women and children of the Pequot Tribe had gathered for their annual Green Corn Festival which is our Thanksgiving celebration. In the predawn hours the sleeping Indians were surrounded by English and Dutch mercenaries who ordered them to come outside. Those who came out were shot or clubbed to death while the terrified women and children who huddled inside the longhouse were burned alive. The next day the governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony declared “A Day Of Thanksgiving” because 700 unarmed men, women and children had been murdered.’