SWV

dreamt he loved another woman too

maybe he could make me wetter

make my wet dream cum true

his feminism wouldn’t be just for me

he wouldn’t bring her down to bring me up

he’d rain for my wet dream

he’d rain for her

he’d rain for me

he’d reign for my wet dream

and reign for a universe with infinite thrones

and reign for a universe to embraces vessels

and reign for generations to sow seeds

and reign for generations to bear fruit

and reign for a fluid universe

and reign for her

and reign for me

and rain on her

and rain on me

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me too 

it was 2008. i was a college freshman and he wanted a part of me that he had entered before. he was my high school boyfriend but it was done – just wanted to be homies. i refused to share my body with him again and he felt that fighting me would make me submit. we fought. i screamed and chased him with a knife out of my apartment. he recently followed me on IG. i immediately blocked that lowlife scum.
it was 2011. i was 21 and madly in love when my forehead was gashed open by my university boyfriend. i bled continuously until he trusted me enough to keep his secret and tell the lie that my injuries and bruises were from me falling off my bike – i walked to piedmont hospital alone which was ironically across the street from my condo which he had been nesting in. when we broke up, he told his family and friends that it was because i cheated on him – a lie to shame me and hide the truth that he was sick. maybe another reason why i moved overseas. my community had been tainted. i still have the scar from the stitches, faded but present. yet, i stopped keeping his secret in 2016 when i moved to tokyo – the unpaid emergency room bill which had been fucking up my credit for 5 years was finally mailed to his parents home with a letter courtesy of my strong grandmother. 
i have many more memories of abuse and assault. it’s fucked up that we can never be truly reconciled for the damage it does and how we must push to undo it. i’m still working through it all, even the seemingly minor transgressions that still happen – just wanna say #metoo. 💗💪🏾

You’re busy complaining about HER/HIM. Have you asked yourself “Am I a fuckboi/gurl?”

Common FUCKBOI/GURL traits include:

1. THIRST
2. KEEPING IT ANYTHING LESS THAN 100
3. KNOWING YOU AINT SHIT BUT MAKING EXCUSES TO PACIFY YOUR LACK OF GROWTH
4. FETISHIZING WHEN YOU KNOW DAMN WELL THERE IS NO COMPATIBILITY BUT FORCING A CONNECTION WHEN YOU KNOW ITS NOT ON SOME REAL SHIT & LATER BEING BITTER WHEN EXPECTATIONS ARE NOT MET
5. LEAVING MESSAGES ON READ WHEN YOU HAD PLANS TO MEET UP
6. LEAVING MESSAGES ON READ WHEN YOU HAD PLANS TO MEET UP & THEN TRYING TO MAKE THAT UP WITH SOME D OR P (sex in this case is beyond basic as fuck and glorification of sex in this case is a reflection of your mentality)
7. ALLOWING SOMEONE TO MAKE YOU FEEL LOW AND STILL RUNNING BACK TO THEM REPEATEDLY (being weak also makes YOU a fuckboi/gurl – that victim mentality doesn’t change shit)
8. THINKING THAT BECAUSE SOMEONE DOES BASIC SHIT FOR YOU THAT THEY ARE SPECIAL (again, low self worth doesn’t make you exempt from being involved in the fuckery)
9. USING THE BASIC SHIT THAT SOMEONE DOES FOR YOU AS A JUSTIFICATION FOR YOUR FEELINGS (see trait 1 – this is also thirst)
10. FEEDING YOUR OWN MANIPULATION (for example when you know someone is running game and you act like you don’t know what’s up and then later blame them for trying you)

I say all this with love, so don’t feel offended if you identify with any of these – just don’t complain to me either because I might not have the energy to hear about your sub par love life when we both know that you’re not out here levitating on the fuckery. This is no shade – this is about self responsibility, self awareness, self improvement, and accountability. We gotta do better and stop claiming victim & pointing fingers. Let us all enter Super Saiyan Savage mode.

GTFOHWTB

Too often, I’ve met these types. Sometimes I’ve loved them. I wanted to do so. They were allowed to be loved, of course. However, I’ve used all my allowances. I will no longer allow myself to drain my energy trying to make the world a better place by attempting to teach man-boys about spectrums. I am a retired instructor/therapist at the “International Fuckboi Rehabilitation Center”. 

So, to speak on “these types”, the fuckbois… The man-boys who like to portray themselves as enlightened and understanding. They like to portray themselves as the “Love Wins, BLM, Black Girl Magic, Pro Black, Woke…etc” intellectual, free spirit, artsy type. They are attracted to my boldness and shaved head. My mystery. They like to comment on my strength and how it’s so becoming. They like to tell me that I’m beautiful with such context that suggests that I needed affirmation from them, because oh of course, they make the rules & determine what’s beauty. I fucking know I have star power already. Then somehow, they will try to tear me down, when I challenge some absurd comment that slips from their lips. They have said “that’s just how men talk”. They will then be taken aback when I am not moved by their sweet nothings which reflect the instinctual arousal of their flesh. I am otherworldly, sir. Do better. I am not stimulated by your penial banter that you mask with predictable prose.

They will try to challenge my abstinence and my sensuality; as though the two can’t coexist. They have tried to manipulate me as a result of their own insecurities, because they wanted to control me with such cruel efflictim. I still can’t believe that they believe I love my breasts because they fantasize about them. No, you imbiscle. I love them because they are apart of me. It’s just that simple. 

They have tried to judge me because my complexities made them uncomfortable because it was not a part of their bullshit formula on how I should behave. I have disappointed many. I have offended many. I have only grown to love myself and the many undefinable ways I can be woman, black, and human.

Goddess.

I watched this piece & felt so loved — so understood. I truly want to forward this to everyone on the planet. Let’s translate this to every language. I would cc the fuckbois first. They need to see this urgently. Watch this overwhelmingly accurate piece, directed & written by Cecile Emeke, a woman of color using film to provoke & inspire ~

fake deep | cecile emeke

strange fruit

[45houses.com // john klukas photography]

 

i’ve always despised labels when associated with people. they make me cringe. i don’t even like when people ask me where i’m from. it’s like my identity is at the mercy of whatever stereotype they have formed about americans or people who were born in massachusetts, or people who were raised in the atlanta, or people who move to los angeles — and of course — i’ve been at the mercy of whatever stereotypes people have associated around people with my skin complexion, people who are gender fluid, women of color, and women. it can be a mind fuck.

labels and categories are boxes that have always been difficult for me and at times have made me very uncomfortable. i’ve felt self conscious, wondering if i would be accepted, afraid that i didn’t fit the mold, concerned that i would be put on a pedestal, fearful that i would be outcasted, ostracized, judged, hated. i’ve felt paranoid and on the edge of insanity. i was overly concerned about the fact that i felt like i didn’t fit anywhere.

i would be proactive about everything. analyzing my own thoughts before i said them to possibly forecast all the ways that what i said could be perceived. i wanted to be understood and i wanted people to feel good around me. i wanted to connect with people. i wanted people to like me. i thought “how could this happen if my thoughts make people uncomfortable? how can i connect with people, if they think i’m a fucking weirdo?”

the world we live in creates this dynamic where many of us feel like who we are isn’t good enough because we are not deemed normal or ideal. some assimiliate. some try to flee society. there are so many paths in between; each path with its loopholes and each path with its challenges.

i knew this as a child somehow. i was so confused as a young girl. the concept of normalcy taunted me. haunted me. consumed me at times. i didn’t know which path to take. i just knew that i wanted to feel good about life but i didn’t know if i would chose the “right” path.

my neighborhood friends were popular and super into boys in elementary school. they were forming crushes and wearing lip gloss. i was tall, slim, had dimples, and a bra size. i had to like boys too, right? of course, i HAD to want their attention. i had some of what society brainwashes us to identify as desirable physical traits. my neighborhood friends would play fortune telling games to predict who they would marry and what kind of house they would have. i just wanted to ride my bike, watch cartoons, eat cereal, and read goosebumps. yet, i tried to affiliate with something that didn’t exactly align with who i felt i was, as many people do.

despite my attempt at oblivion, i remember at a young age feeling very misunderstood. not only was i not boy crazy, i had this infatuation with the human body, specifically the female body — my body. i would sit in front of my full length mirror, lock the door and explore myself with intrigue. i grew this appreciation for my body at a young age. in hindsight, it was innocent but in the mind of my father, i was sick. my father’s discovery of my adoration provoked him to give me a beating so horrific that i had to sit in a bathtub filled with chilled water and ice to soothe the bruises and welps. the teachers at school noticed. child protective services warranted a protective order from my father. a child psychologist said i needed therapy. my grandmother wondered how to show me love. my grandmother’s sister proclaimed i was a lesbian. i wanted to die. i was 10.

misconceptions, labels, categories, stereotypes have really fucked me over. it caused me to have some dark thoughts and i experienced gender violence at an early age because i didn’t behave in a way my father understood. he didn’t know how to love me and my love for myself began to be in question and in jeopardy.

the abuse i received began with my father, continued with the world, and ended with a past lover, keenan uriah girard, whose demons sent me to the emergency room. he had an evil inside of him that i hope he has overcome. it is an evil that i can never forget or forgive. it is an evil that i have learned to accept that exists in the world. it is an evil that i will never sacrifice myself again to try to understand. it is an evil that i will never empathize with. it is an evil so horrific that the people who possess it should not be considered human. it is an evil that makes monsters of life. it is an evil that i hope dies within itself, never to manifest again, never to be able to disguise itself again. it is an evil that i burdened myself to protect until now…