detroit church girl, she made this world bow she is my mama my auntie Mizz Hattie down the street she worked her ass off and when you needed her she stopped and picked you up detroit church girl we renamed Queen she gave us ourselves in big lights and ball gowns told us to stop…
… she who gave me the words that crafted this story…
She created me. You see.
She created me. Writing me on paper between cardboard covers. She made me real.
most women are superheroes. that’s not an overestimation. in fact when it comes to their children, to their families, most women take extraordinary measures on ordinary days.
online dating is complete and utter mystery to me. i know way too many people who have had success to know it’s not a hoax and yet…
what is more heartbreaking, ending a long term love affair or breaking up with a life long friend? walking away from conciliatory relationships, however, is critical to your health and well-being. at some point in each of our lives we come to a point where we have to accept the fact that this is not what it appears to be. and when it’s not truly love, leave.
i don’t know a woman who doesn’t have a story. i don’t know a girl who hasn’t had to be brave. i don’t get how anyone is surprised by the pervasiveness of sexual harassment and sexual assault. the idea that so many women and individuals who identify as femme have to once again ‘out’ themselves in order to bring this issue to light, astounds me. it’s time we stop pretending we don’t know this is happening. it’s time we stop faking the funk. it’s time we all say no more. enough. this isn’t the culture we want our children to inherent. this isn’t the culture we want to live in. this isn’t who we are. unless of course, it is.
the impact of america’s peculiar institution of slavery did not end once the south surrendered in 1865. the legacy of slavery can be found even today. it has deep and strange roots. and we do not speak of it. 4 million americans were freed at the end of the civil war. 4 million. yet we do not speak about slavery. we do not think on it. not as a nation. if you ask her america treats it’s slave history like a cold it had once that’s now gone.
Elizabeth Catlett and Mickalene Thomas are two artists, both women, both black. Their paintings speak to me. For me they link the struggles made and overcome by generations of black women. It’s striking to me that the eyes of the women in each of the paintings shown here the subject’s eyes share the same weariness and expectation though the settings and timeline are radically different. It leads me to wonder if progress is really progressing.
others can’t hear the way ice cream sounds or taste the flutter of a bird’s wing stirring fall leaves