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🌛CRESCENT MOON HAIR CLIP🌜

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Traffic Signals

You would often run red lights. Ignoring the yellow plea to Slow down. So when I spoke With dandelion breath, Your two fingers Smeared with lipstick Streaked with blood, You thought: Go!

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To Break This Shadow

“They say I move with the succulence of fresh peaches, hips ripened by the legacy of strong mothers who were left to nurture the fruits of their labors with little help. They say fathers were more like rain-clouds, and around here there seems to be a drought. Perhaps that’s why these mothers’ crops keep dying so young. More susceptible to disease, they say, more likely to get entangled in weeds that promise new life, only to leave them strangled like twisted umbilical chords.   

They say, sit down young woman, your words are venom and they bite too harsh at this translucent flesh. I know better than this. My veins are filled with the blood of great builders and I won’t have you twist my words like bandages wrapped tight around the corpse, suffocating my truth until it lies in a sarcophagus.    

They love to say that this is not about the shadows that lurk in the pigment of our people, but this slate has never been cleaned. These ghosts are present for some more than others, but their howling can be heard by all. While their shackles are decades removed from my lineage, they still clank in the night. Those who play deaf can afford too, when they’ve been banking on their tunnel vision for so long. The light at the end is so bright, it’s easy to see how one can be blind to the obsidian bricks that surround them.   

That’s not to say that we have not risen from the muck, like tall trees, billowing leaves and branches into blossoming canopies, but to say that we are now equally in the sun is to put on sunglasses and mock our shade. Don’t believe the callousness of our bark, weathered flesh is merely more resilient, we are still growing.   

Some will sit, heads tucked behind a hood, hands clutching an anachronistic banner, and wait for this storm to roll over.   

However, this is no summertime drizzle or mid-morning snowfall. This is flash flood, no warning, levies tired as our souls. This is thunderstorm clapping loud, echoing, so hopefully someone will finally hear. This is blizzard, inhales frozen in your chest so you know how it feels when you can’t breathe. This is lightning, striking fierce and quick, causing wildfires and spreading so that the land will be changed.   

This land needs change.

No more chains, no more go back to that land from which you came, no more speak this language or else you’re shamed, no more apathy towards others’ pain, no more appropriating culture to acquire more fame, no more exploiting the lives of others to entertain, no more treating people in ways that are inhumane.   

This land needs change.   

We can’t move forward, until we address what’s holding us back. People in power can not remain blind, or this problem will repeat itself until we wonder why we’ve created a new-age genocide.“

- Tiffany Smalls (2015)

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Nicki Minaj at Alexander Wang FW15 // New York

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when u hear fob in public

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this is so cute

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// I’m Feelin’ Myself. //

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I finally have purple hair! :)

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Everyone on Facebook is posting statuses about getting 4.0s and 3.7s and they’re like:

And I’m just like:

…. #At least I didn’t die hahah