Because I can tell you for a fact, I know many black women who are loud and ratchet and wear weaves. I know black women who are attending law school and choose to wear their hair naturally. I know black women who are single mothers, working multiple jobs in order to support their families. I know black women who are shy and introverted and listen to alternative music. I know Claire Huxtables and Olivia Popes. I know Nene Leakes and Sweet Browns. And the one thing that they all have in common is that they all deserved to be loved.
Excerpt from  RE: BLACK MEN DON’T LIKE BLACK WOMEN (via bellecosby)
Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”

Kait Rokowski (A Good Day)

(Source: justsingyourlifeaway)




How do you even…

They are so beautifully identical.

It felt like flowers were growing in my womb
and caterpillars were nesting their cocoons in my heart
every time our love flourished they prospered
and flew to my womb to kiss the flowers

(andreasiera) Butterflies (via afreedomtoexpress)
Perhaps it’s not love that you are seeking because love is everywhere. You don’t need someone to tell you “I miss you too” 26 times a day. You don’t need all of your 12 calls to be answered every single time. You don’t need any of that to feel the love seeping from your soulmate.
I have a crush on your mind
romantic interest in your words
your verbs
are love
show me action
I can feel.

Crush (andreasiera)
Black dress with a slit up the thigh.
Black thigh-highs.
Black pumps.
Black lipstick.
Black eyeliner.
Black locs to the waist.
She looked like heaven at night.

afreedomtoexpress (andreasiera)
Love is not having the words to describe what love is, but feeling the experience that fills your heart with what love is.
(andreasiera) love is (via afreedomtoexpress)
I am pieces of all the women I have tried to save.