The Black Feminist Manifesto

wildandpeaceful:

my new digital illustration, Yearbook Toni. — wildandpeaceful:

my new digital illustration, *Yearbook Toni*.

fabianromero:

[image of Black female assigned at birth person with short natural hair, wearing red lipstick and a blue sweater that reads “Hella!” they are standing next to a white door and the blinds behind them are white.]
Welcome to my second Featured Poet. I will be featuring a new poet every few months or so, folks who I know personally through community and who I admire. I want to highlight youth, queer, people of color, trans and genderqueer poets. Please give a lot of love to Raven Taylor. I first saw Raven perform sometime last year and was moved deeply by their sincere and vulnerable power. Their power shines through the following piece.
——
Atelophobia (An open letter to every boy I fell for)

I’m sorry that you got your heart broken by girls who are prettier than me.
Girls who are built exactly like the sunrise with all the planets aligned down their spine.
Girls prettier than me have broken my heart.
I’m sorry that I wasn’t pretty enough to break you.
Pretty enough to compensate for the war torn battlefield that is my body.
Atelophobia is the fear of not being good enough.
I am not good enough to be pretty for you..but if it is any consolation…
I do not not think of you when I look in the mirror wondering who will deem me fuckable.
I think of you when I am trying my hardest to be graceful and delicate.when I am doing too much and switching my hips just a little too hard.
I am so obsessed with “pretty” that it’s almost insulting.
It is the deconstruction of my body and my face.
It is the desecration of my dignity and self-worth.
The hatred of good looking men with warm smiles and even better looking women with eyelids that could baffle the stars.
Atelophobia is the fear of not being good enough.
I am not good enough for you to find me hypnotizing,but if it is any consolation…
I have been teaching myself to morph into another graceful animal everyday.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the swan song you wanted or sing my hymns loud enough to blind you.
I cannot give you butterfly but I can show you caterpillar and hope that I am just lovable enough for you to accept me.
I keep trying to be the solar system,but I am not a sunday morning.I cannot imitate the warmth of a friday night.
I am monday at 5:00 a.m.I am the cracks in the pavement.
The ceiling moss.The wall flower.
My “pretty” is more blurry than stunning.Is more like hushed tones.Is broken bells and siren sounds.Is underdog. Pluto. Echo.Is not noticed.
Atelophobia is the fear of not being good enough.
I am not good enough to be as interesting as the solar system is to you,but if it is any consolation…
I think that Pluto is just as Regal as saturn.
I am so obsessed with “pretty” thats it’s almost shocking.
It is the details of a crime scene.It is the secret topic of every conversation.I want you to think I’m pretty.
I am saying with my eyes.I am saying it with my swag.With my broken heart and shattered intentions…
So why don’t you see it?
I keep trying to be soil,but I am not a landscape.
I may never be as fluid as nature.
My “pretty” is more storm than sunset.Is more rollling rocks than sparkling gems.Is chard limbs. Muffled flames. Tree stump.
My “pretty” is more awkward than breathtaking.Is more backlash than acceptance.Is scar tissue and broken promises.Is half. painted. picture.
Is not enough for you.
I am so obsessed with “pretty” that it’s almost a trap.Even when I don’t want you,I still want you to be looking at me.
I am begging to be noticed.
To be good enough.“Pretty ” enough.Lethal enough.Fuckable enough to have you. To keep you.
Enough is never enough.
I will never be the sunrise and I am too fragile to lift planets or cradle star dust.
I will always be cracked glass.Ceiling moss.Wall flower.I will never be able to break you.
Atelophobia is the fear of not being good enough.
I am not good enough to be pretty for you,but if it is any consolation…
I will stop trying to apologize for it.
——
Bio: Raven Taylor is a queer woman and poet of color. She writes poems about grief, survival, growing pains and the strong women who raised her. Raven uses poetry to tell stories, heal, and make sense of all the changes that happen in her life. She is currently a senior at Nova high school and working as the Wing 1 Coordinator of Cultural Activism at Queer Youth Space. She is also a Bent board member and is heavily involved with Youth Speaks Seattle, She was a member of the 2011 and 2012 Youth Speaks slam team. — fabianromero:

[image of Black female assigned at birth person with short natural hair, wearing red lipstick and a blue sweater that reads “Hella!” they are standing next to a white door and the blinds behind them are white.]

Welcome to my second Featured Poet. I will be featuring a new poet every few months or so, folks who I know personally through community and who I admire. I want to highlight youth, queer, people of color, trans and genderqueer poets. Please give a lot of love to Raven Taylor. I first saw Raven perform sometime last year and was moved deeply by their sincere and vulnerable power. Their power shines through the following piece.

——

**Atelophobia (An open letter to every boy I fell for)**

I’m sorry that you got your heart broken by girls who are prettier than me.

Girls who are built exactly like the sunrise with all the planets aligned down their spine.

Girls prettier than me have broken my heart.

I’m sorry that I wasn’t pretty enough to break you.

Pretty enough to compensate for the war torn battlefield that is my body.

Atelophobia is the fear of not being good enough.

I am not good enough to be pretty for you..but if it is any consolation…

I do not not think of you when I look in the mirror wondering who will
deem me fuckable.

I think of you when I am trying my hardest to be graceful and delicate.
when I am doing too much and switching my hips just a little too hard.

I am so obsessed with “pretty” that it’s almost insulting.

It is the deconstruction of my body and my face.

It is the desecration of my dignity and self-worth.

The hatred of good looking men with warm smiles and even better looking women with eyelids that could baffle the stars.

Atelophobia is the fear of not being good enough.

I am not good enough for you to find me hypnotizing,but if it is any consolation…

I have been teaching myself to morph into another graceful animal everyday.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the swan song you wanted or sing my hymns loud enough to blind you.

I cannot give you butterfly but I can show you caterpillar and hope that I am just lovable enough for you to accept me.

I keep trying to be the solar system,but I am not a sunday morning.I cannot imitate the warmth of a friday night.

I am monday at 5:00 a.m.
I am the cracks in the pavement.

The ceiling moss.
The wall flower.

My “pretty” is more blurry than stunning.
Is more like hushed tones.
Is broken bells and siren sounds.
Is underdog. Pluto. Echo.
Is not noticed.

Atelophobia is the fear of not being good enough.

I am not good enough to be as interesting as the solar system is to you,but if it is any consolation…

I think that Pluto is just as Regal as saturn.

I am so obsessed with “pretty” thats it’s almost shocking.

It is the details of a crime scene.
It is the secret topic of every conversation.
I want you to think I’m pretty.

I am saying with my eyes.
I am saying it with my swag.
With my broken heart and shattered intentions…

So why don’t you see it?

I keep trying to be soil,but I am not a landscape.

I may never be as fluid as nature.

My “pretty” is more storm than sunset.
Is more rollling rocks than sparkling gems.
Is chard limbs. Muffled flames. Tree stump.

My “pretty” is more awkward than breathtaking.
Is more backlash than acceptance.
Is scar tissue and broken promises.
Is half. painted. picture.

Is not enough for you.

I am so obsessed with “pretty” that it’s almost a trap.
Even when I don’t want you,I still want you to be looking at me.

I am begging to be noticed.

To be good enough.
“Pretty ” enough.
Lethal enough.
Fuckable enough to have you. To keep you.

Enough is never enough.

I will never be the sunrise and I am too fragile to lift planets or cradle star dust.

I will always be cracked glass.
Ceiling moss.
Wall flower.
I will never be able to break you.

Atelophobia is the fear of not being good enough.

I am not good enough to be pretty for you,but if it is any consolation…

I will stop trying to apologize for it.

——

Bio: Raven Taylor is a queer woman and poet of color. She writes poems about grief, survival, growing pains and the strong women who raised her. Raven uses poetry to tell stories, heal, and make sense of all the changes that happen in her life. She is currently a senior at Nova high school and working as the Wing 1 Coordinator of Cultural Activism at Queer Youth Space. She is also a Bent board member and is heavily involved with Youth Speaks Seattle, She was a member of the 2011 and 2012 Youth Speaks slam team.

(via mariposaroja)

chizohfro:

mpr1m3:

mpr1m3
dont u do it.

simple. — chizohfro:

mpr1m3:

mpr1m3

dont u do it.

simple.

(via beautiffulcurls)

(Source: fuckyeahbodypositivity, via fuckyeahriotgrrrlsofcolor)

This is a zine I made on Tanya “Sweet Tee” Winley, one of the earliest female emcees. Born and raised in Harlem, Sweet Tee began sharing rhymes with her pals in the late 1970s. She eventually landed a hit in 1980 called “Vicious Rap,” which is an early example of conscious rap. This little bio includes quotes, lyrics and fun illustrations. Great for any feminist, black artist, hip-hop enthusiast, all of the above, and more!
My tumblr is: thevarietystore.tumblr.com
And you can get that zine right here! — This is a zine I made on Tanya “Sweet Tee” Winley, one of the earliest female emcees. Born and raised in Harlem, Sweet Tee began sharing rhymes with her pals in the late 1970s. She eventually landed a hit in 1980 called “Vicious Rap,” which is an early example of conscious rap. This little bio includes quotes, lyrics and fun illustrations. Great for any feminist, black artist, hip-hop enthusiast, all of the above, and more!

My tumblr is: thevarietystore.tumblr.com

And you can get that zine right here!

…an artist who swore i’d swoon once he drew [on] me

you prefer dawn

but my bones are tinted midnight

.

the knots in my spine aren’t really knots

they’re more like kinks

.

because i am rich in innocence you think

you can just use my sinless skin as a waste-yard for

all of your inkpens and boarderlines

don’t fish in my curls, boy

you’ve never seen a body [of water] like this

don’t try to kiss me

i’ve got oceans mapped on my face

don’t make me drown you

i’ve got too much Mogadishu in my blood

you see, a man drawing(seperating) lines over a map

and calling it [art]work has never impressed me

you make divide and conqure look beautiful

but i will bleed a thousand times before i blush

-NajmaIdil

najmaidil.tumblr.com

wilting

i’ve learned that men will only love you when you are blooming

and not when there is so much wilting inside of you

.

do not call my voice a waterfall

if you will run the second you smell smoke on my skin

.

the night you spill your story, i hope they won’t look at you

like you are a mess that,

your skin is table linen they

desperately want to scrub clean

-NajmaIdil

najmaidil.tumblr.com

Black women wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see Black women. White women wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see women. White men wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see human beings. Michelle Haimoff, on privilege (via jatigi)

(Source: homoarigato, via wretchedoftheearth)

Neo-colonialism is also the worst form of imperialism. For those who practise it, it means power without responsibility and for those who suffer from it, it means exploitation without redress. Kwame Nkrumah. “Introduction.” Neo-colonialism: The Last Stage of Imperialism. (1970)

(Source: bougieasshoodlum, via bad-dominicana)

Your skin must be sensitive enough for the lightest kiss and thick enough to ward off the sneers. If you are going to spit in the eye of the world, make sure your back is to the wind. Gloria Anzaldúa, “Speaking In Tongues: A Letter to 3rd World Women Writers” in This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color (via bwildness)

(via tierracita)