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I remember the first time someone explained to me what the word gay meant.
We were in middle school
Playing on the swing set behind Stoy Elementary
"He’s so gay," she said
Bitter disgust poured out of her mouth with every syllable
I could not think as to why being happy could be such a horrible thing
And so I asked
My exact words being
“Whats so wrong with being happy?”
Now both my friends looked at me weird
“Don’t you know what gay means?”
“Doesn’t it mean to be happy?”
“You’re such a little kid, gay does not mean happy. Gay is a boy who likes another boy”
I stood there wondering why it mattered so much that a boy liked another boy;
why it was such a distasteful thing.
And why it meant gay couldn’t still mean happy.
BAF
I'm dark because I couldn't say no.
Letting him kiss my face, my shoulders, my arms, wherever place his lips could meet, I let him have it.
Those kisses keep me warm, make me illuminate as if I am a reflection of him.
So when you tell me I'm "black as ****" while I used to flinch, now I do not stir.
But now I realize you my friend are the lonely one.
The sun finds me, loves me down all over, leaving traces of his prescience as if he doesn't mind if my daddy comes hunting him down.
You search the sun out, maybe he'll squeeze in time, but my sun. Oh my sun.
My sun has a way of seeping deep into my skin, leaving me marked each time he comes and goes. No matter the season, his kiss remains. Tan lines that have marked his territory.
My friend, you fear for that real love that has no limits. You search out something more temporary such as the seasons,
While I open myself for all love he gives.
"Black as ****" you may exclaim when my pretty brown brown drives you wild.
Well, the sun and I have an eternal love affair.
Each kiss just adding more beautiful to my brown.
You are someone I've never known, but somehow your laugh brings me memories that I wish I could remember. Strangers that have each other's stories etched in our souls before we could be one. Who could you be?
Mine.
BLM.
So fascinating black women's crowns are.
For so long we couldn't accept them,
Well if Jesus can wear a crown of thorns
you sure as hell can wear those curls, those naps,
that glory, relaxed or not.
Your crown, your choice.

"Yas natural." No.

So why is it my hair is automatically deemed less beautiful when asked if I am "down with the creamy crack" or "all natural"?
My crown loses its glisten when another black women tears me down for not bearing my natural thorns.
And yes I've always considered going back every 8 or so weeks when my curly new thorns start sprouting back in.

"You should try this product. Great for natural hair." But...

It's just that, if I am not my hair
why must it matter so much what stage it is in?
No I am not rejecting my blackness, no appropriation needed
my curls still rejoice, even if i didn't wake up that way
contrary to popular belief
I do not like my hair straight.
"Your hair gets so big. Are you natural?" No.

You call society racist for being so fascinated by our hair.
Racist for asking us to limit our hairs
heights and widths to accommodate their dress codes
Racist to change ourselves

"I love your hair. Are you natural?" No.
Well it is prejudice to deem me insecure, unnatural, and "bad hair"
because of how I "choose" to wear my crown.
Poor assumption that just because my hair is often curly and is thick that I must in fact be natural.
Hair is beautiful is various forms.

Please let me relax with my relaxed crown.
19 year old woman killed in fatal car accident on 76th and Hampton.

5 blocks from my home.

I drove past the scene.

It was someone I knew. A someone that always spoke when she saw me, a kind heart. She was beautiful with youth and so many knew her as she will be remembered.

It's scary. It could've easily been me. I'm scared. These car accidents are becoming more fatal, these bullets are losing names, we're losing faces. God is calling us home so rapidly I'm terrified. Is the world ending? How am I still here.

I woke up and prayed.
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