dark men and light women

i’m in my prime,
not withering and old.
but i refuse to play
your wicked games any longer.

i know this tether is unbreakable,
but you make me feel like i’m interchangeable.
you drew a target on my heart,
when did this become fatal attraction?

i don’t have the strength,
the energy,
nor the patience
to be held hostage by your love.

so baby please don’t despair
when i say that
i’ve found the courage to
let you go.

you were never meant to be tied down in the first place.

—  believing i could love you was my mistake, c.j.n.

Being black is a damn blessing and one hell of a gift, fuck you mean? Tell whoever makes you feel like it’s a curse or something bad to get they lives checked. We poppin, fam.

All aboard the black tumblr follow train

I haven’t been seeing much of these lately 🚂 so I was hoping to start one and spread it like wildfire?🔥

Reblog and follow your fellow brothers and sisters and like kings and queens should, follow back👊🏾

black men: darkskin girls hella ugly yo

lightskin girls: *says nothing*

white people: darkskin girls look like monkeys

lightskin girls: *says nothing*

the world: *no darkskin representation”

lightskin girls: *says nothing*

darkskin girls: *uplift themselves and speaks about colorism issues within the community and around the world*

lightskin girls: oh mer gard y r u attacking us? U R whats wrong with the world u jealous bitch!!!!!!111/


this scene is so important and so relevant though, colourism will never not be important to talk about

I can’t even begin to explain how much shit darkskinned black girls get and how much colorism affects them. if it isn’t people outside of the black community insulting and being racist toward darkskinned black girls, then it’s people inside the community.

Yes there is colorism and racism within the black community aimed only toward darkskinned black girls/women by dark skinned men and light skinned black girls alike.

The black community is the only community where our men constantly put us down and try to shame us for not being “lighter”, and relate darkskin to having an awful personality.

Darkskin black girls who go natural and have type 4c hair are constantly encouraged to perm it, to get a weave.

In addition to wearing a weave, or a wig, dark skin black girls are expected to have full face contour/highlight so our structures look thinner and our nose looks slimmer so we can fit the facial type of a light skinned girl, or look more Eurocentric to make up for being “too dark”…

Like I hate that not even the black community is a safe space for dark skin black girls because of colorism. We’re literally taught to hate ourselves and be like white or lightskinned girls so our own men will love us, and so we won’t  be hated by society?

And when we try to form little safe spaces for ourselves (i.e the natural hair movement), those are bombarded by the people who society is always forcing us to be like.

It’s just so fucking upsetting.

Recently Jidenna went on the breakfast club and briefly spoke about his views on being a Lightskin Nigerian. He spoke about how Africans want to be white and that’s why they value light skin. Which is true, the fact is that all over Africa and in the Caribbeans bleaching is very high and popular. It’s the sad true, our people don’t see the value of having dark skin. Self hate is a disease that’s killing us and people. Modern day Africa have a neo-colonist mind set. Claim Africa, Activate ya Melanin
Post made by: @oba_tayo
#sancophaleague #obatayo


One of the things that always bothered me growing up was that in every example of “black love” that I could think of, whether it was in TV, movies, or even between my own parents, it always seemed like a black woman could only be in a happy relationship with a black man if the woman is ~10 shades lighter than him. Even on this site, I see countless pictures of gorgeous light skinned women with gorgeous dark skinned men but not a single picture of the opposite. As a dark skinned black woman, I’ve been chastised, insulted and ridiculed by black men and completely overlooked by men of other races…I felt like even among my own people, I still wasn’t worthy of love because of my skin tone. And then I met this darling man, who took me to prom and made me feel like the belle of the ball and has treated me like an absolute prize since the day that we met. I wanted to share these photos in honor of the blackout and in honor of any darker skinned black woman who has ever felt like no one would ever love her because of her skin tone.

Not love at first sight, but love with NO sight.

The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid the driver and, using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked down the aisle and found the seat he had told her was empty. Then she settled in, placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against her leg. It had been a year since Safiya, thirty-four, became blind. Due to a medical misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity.

Once a fiercely independent woman, Safiya now felt condemned by this terrible twist of fate to become a powerless, helpless burden on everyone around her. “How could this have happened to me?” she would plead, her heart knotted with anger. But no matter how much she cried or ranted, she knew the painful truth her sight was never going to return. A cloud of depression hung over Safiya’s once optimistic spirit. Just getting through each day was an exercise in frustration and exhaustion. And all she had to cling to was her husband Meraj.

Meraj was an Air Force officer and he loved Safiya with all of his heart. When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become independent again. Meraj’s military background had trained him well to deal with sensitive situations, and yet he knew this was the most difficult battle he would ever face. Finally, Safiya felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Meraj volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city.

At first, this comforted Safiya and fulfilled Meraj’s need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task. Soon, however, Meraj realized that this arrangement was not working- it was hectic, and costly. Safiya is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him cringe. She was still so fragile, so angry. How would she react? Just as Meraj predicted, Safiya was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again. “I am blind!” she responded bitterly. “How am I supposed to know where I am going? I feel like you are abandoning me.” Meraj’s heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. Meraj promised Safiya that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it. And that is exactly what happened.

For two solid weeks, Meraj, military uniform and all, accompanied Safiya to and from work each day. Meraj taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt to her new environment. Meraj helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her and save her a seat. Meraj made her laugh, even on those not-so-good days when she would trip exiting the bus or drop her briefcase. Each morning they made the journey together and Meraj would take a cab back to his office.

Although this routine was even more costly and exhausting than the previous one, Meraj knew it was only a matter of time before Safiya would be able to ride the bus on her own. Meraj believed in her, in the Safiya he used to know before she would lost her sight, who was not afraid of any challenge and who would never, ever quit. Finally, Safiya decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own.

Monday morning arrived, and before she left, she threw her arms around Meraj, her temporary bus riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, his love. Safiya said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Each day on her own went perfectly and Safiya had never felt better. Safiya was doing it! She was going to work all by herself!

On Friday morning, Safiya took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying for her fare to exit the bus, the driver said, “Sister, I sure envy you.” Safiya was not sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year? Curious, she asked the driver, “Why do you say that you envy me?” The driver responded, “It must feel so good to be taken care of and protected like you are.” Safiya had no idea what the driver was talking about, and asked again, “What do you mean?” The driver answered, “You know, every morning for the past week, a fine looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you when you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches you until you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky woman.”

Tears of happiness poured down Safiya’s cheeks. For although she could not physically see him, she had always felt Meraj’s presence. Safiya was lucky, so lucky, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she did not need to see to believe- Gift of Love that can bring light where there had been darkness…

“The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another: they enjoin what is just, and forbid what is evil; they observe regular prayers, practice regular charity, and obey Allah and His Messenger. On them will Allah pour His mercy; for Allah is Exalted in power, Wise.”
[At-Tawbah 9:71]

I honestly want to jump off of a bridge.

All my fucking life I’ve had to hear darker black people tell me that “I think I’m prettier than they are because I’m light”.
I’ve had to deal with my chocolate mother and grandparents call me white and pink and yellow and whatever the fuck else. My grandfather actually calls me a peckerwood.
I’ve had to deal with self-hatred because I didn’t (and still don’t) want to be this damn light.
And now Oprah is airing the sequel to “Dark Girls” entitled “Light Girls” and I have to hear the people in MY OWN race and ethnicity say that we shouldn’t have a special because “our lives aren’t hard”.
Granted, there are some light skinned people that are disrespectful towards dark skinned people. But there are so many fuckboys/twitter niggas out here disrespecting dark women, light women, gay men, trans women and people with disabilities. Channel your anger and hate towards them rather than a group of people who DIDN’T fucking ask to be light just like you didn’t ask to be dark. (As a matter of fact, I’ve prayed consistently for the past 15+ years to be darker…)
I personally cape for all LGBTQIA POC. That means all skin tones, all cultures, and all religions.
Fuck this colorist bullshit.

TiO - Video Idea

The camera moves low along a darkened, reddish, hotel corridor, past damaged doors, a vibe of old luxury turned to shit. As we move past the doors we hear coming from the rooms beyond muffled voices, cries that might be ecstasy or anguish, and the low thumping bass line from PILLOWTALK, and then LIKE I WOULD, and then we turn left into an open door…

On the far side of the darkened room, a fire roars in the fireplace, and silhouetted between us and it is the back of a long, worn out Chesterfield sofa. Jutting over the back is the elegant head of a young man. As the camera pushes slowly towards him, and TiO begins, we recognise the bird tattoo on the back of his slender neck, and the bare brown shoulders and arms splayed out along the back of the sofa.

A close up on Zayn’s whiskey-slick lips as he delivers the opening line, “I can taste it on your mouth…” puffing out pot smoke as he does. We cut to a full frontal shot. Zayn is sitting in the centre of the sofa, wearing low-slung black leather pants and nothing else, a crystal tumbl(e)r of whiskey in one hand, a joint in the other.

From the doors leading onto the room come dancing women and men, dark-skinned, light-skinned, all sexy as hell and semi-clad in black clothing which they begin to remove as the song proceeds, performing for Zayn, like he’s their beautiful king. He sings to the camera from the sofa, intercut with shots of their glorious writhing bodies, and close-ups of his, in high-res 1000fps slow mo.

As the song reaches its climax, Zayn is pulled to his feet, a woman slips in behind him, hands on his chest and abdomen, kissing his neck. A boyish young man in front of him, back to the camera, moves in for a kiss, then pauses, lingering. Zayn lifts his chin, daring him to do it, (“come on, then, come on”), but the boy’s head dips and he kisses Zayn’s chest instead, then his abs, going lower, out of shot, Zayn’s eyes widen, roll back and he falls into the woman’s arms and into darkness.

The End.

When you run it back and watch that almost-kiss moment again and again, you eventually notice that there is a mirror on the back wall, behind Zayn, and it catches for a microsecond the familiar face of the boy who almost kisses him…