i can no longer tell what am i doing

Shipping:  A Cautionary Tale Part II

I am so appreciative of all of the lovely comments on my last post. I find it heartening to have had such a wonderful community to share thoughts with over the last couple of years that I have been involved in this fandom - and thank you all for letting me share my opinions. However, I think I am going to take a bit of a Tumblr break. Things have gotten to be a little too much around here for me and I think I need some distance.  Based on what we have seen in the last couple of weeks/days, I don’t think I can call myself a shipper anymore.  I no longer believe that they are together - and while that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t love to see them together, because I see a love there that I think is rare - I am choosing to believe what they have been telling us for a year. If they end up seeing what is in front of their faces and ultimately do become a couple - I will be among the first to raise a glass to them. (Many glasses, if I’m being honest).

As I have been scrolling through posts over the last couple of days, I am sad about what has happened to our shipper space - and sad to see a lot of really wonderful women choose to walk away from the fandom because of the toxicity they can no longer tolerate - whether that toxicity is from the fandom in general or from the wreckage of Shatlander.  A lot of people here have taken a lot of abuse - unwarranted abuse - and I understand that enough is enough for many.  

One of the things that I have always loved about this corner of the fandom is that we deal with our hurt and pain through humor.  We have some of the funniest, most creative women I have ever known here - and I have spent days laughing over the saltiness and snark of it all. I love that we can express ourselves and accept different opinions.  I love that we aren’t afraid to “speak truth to power” as it were, and tell the cast, production and crew how we feel about situations we consider wrong and unfair - to express our dissatisfaction with either certain parts of the show or the fandom.

But when that humor and honesty turns mean spirited and outspoken against one person in particular - no matter who it is - it makes me uncomfortable. I have my opinions on the situation, and believe me I express them, but I try my best to do it in private. I will echo a number of other bloggers and say that I am distressed to see some of the public bashing of MM. We don’t know her, don’t know anything about her, and even if we don’t agree with some of the things that have happened - I hate to see a community that was built on love, one that for the most part expressed such love for each other and for Sam and Cait over the past 2+ years - devolve into bullying this woman in public. I abhor what Shatner did to this fandom, and will stand by that, but when we say things specifically about this woman for all to see, we as shippers lose the moral high ground to say we were bullied unfairly.  

Whether she is Sam’s girlfriend, or just a friend, she is in his life in some capacity. She has been bullied on her own SM by trolls - and even though she has the ability to control what happens on her own IG account, it’s wrong. We have always disavowed these people as having nothing to do with us.  And I believe that.  I believe that they are shit stirrers of the worst order that are neither shippers or antis - just mean spirited, awful people. I would hate for anyone to look at a shipper blog and think that our community in any way supports that kind of person.  Because I know we don’t.  We’re angry.  We’re upset. We’re hurt. We’re disillusioned.  We’re sad.  But we aren’t mean. We believed in love.  I know we still do.

Recommended Listening: The Quality of Mercy - Max Richter

“There is nothing more you could have done,” Cullen says, kneeling before her, his fingers reaching for hers and finding them cold. The tent sways under the relentless wind of the Western Approach, the torch flickering shadows upon the canvas. She sits upon the bed, elbows on her knees, a hand covering her mouth, holding her chin.

“It’s Haven all over again, except this time I asked them to die,” she murmurs.

“You asked of them nothing. They know what they are fighting for.”

“Their Herald. How can I – how can I explain to the families who lost sons and daughters? Wives and husbands? How do I tell Varric that I left his friend in the fade? How do I tell Fenris?” He materializes behind Cullen, out of air and shadow.

“The wolf is howling but his hawk can no longer hear him. I am yours, I told you so. You have left me alone, when you promised you would not. What do I do? What do I do without you?” Cole’s mouth moves quickly under his hat, hands clenched into fists. His tone shifts, speaking a different person. “My dear love. My Fenris. I should have stayed, I should have stayed with you.” Her face goes white, the pit in her stomach dropping. All she can feel is a heavy pulse, pounding its way through her, relentless in its beating.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh.” She sits up straight, her hand moving out of reach of Cullen’s. Instead they fist at her stomach, winding into her tunic as her shoulders hunch.

“I made it worse, I meant to help, I’ll help, I’ll-”

“No! No. Thank you Cole,” she blurts out quickly. She never wants to forget. She will never forget.

“Perhaps you should leave,” Cullen says, rising to his feet and looking at Cole.

“Yes. Yes, I should leave.” Gone as quickly as he had come. Cullen watches him disappear and sighs, before taking a seat beside her on the bed. He studies her quietly, before wrapping an arm over her shoulders, pulling her close.

“I spoke to Hawke, before all of this. We were friends of a sort once, back in Kirkwall. I told her that the Inquisition wasn’t her cause, that I was surprised she had come,” Cullen says. “She said that her cause had always been to keep her family safe. That helping the Inquisition would do that.”

“Fenris won’t understand. I wouldn’t, if you had – if you had been left behind,” she says, burying her face into the softness of his cloak, clinging to him.

“You did not leave her behind. She chose to stay,” Cullen tells her quietly. “All you can do is keep him safe. That’s what Hawke would have wanted.”  

“Hawke would have wanted to go home,” she says. All Cullen can do is hold her, hand moving in small circles on her back, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. The ghost of guilt sits heavy upon her chest, and not even Cullen can pull it from her. They lie in bed together, wrapped in each other, but do not sleep. He offers what words he can, but knows that time will heal what he cannot. If it heals at all.

ethnic ambiguity; or, what is lily evans? a collection of microaggressions

i am neither pakistani nor turkish, but i am (like lily here) ethnically ambiguous. i can’t tell you how many times i’ve been asked what i am, told i am not asian enough or not white enough, called exotic or “oriental” (good gOD do not call me oriental), and how much i’ve watched my mom and grandmother suffer for their race in this damn country. so this is for @prongsyouignoramus, but this is also for me. may we someday have canon characters who look like us. love you, precious human <3


• she goes by lily, has ever since the first time in primary that a teacher refused to call her by her first name

• she’s always rather liked her full name, ayşa lily evans, she never thought it was that difficult to say, but the teachers and the other kids cant or dont want to learn to say ay-sha, so lily it is

• by age ten she knows her family’s story a lot. her mother is half pakistani (punjab, she thinks, but some details are fuzzy) and half turkish, moved to england in 1951 shortly after india and pakistan split.

• dad learnt turkish for her mother, they say, and lily always liked the language, but her favorite is the way urdu rolls off her tongue

• tuney (mariam petunia) has a hard time with the languages though, she tries really hard but the words dont always sound right when she says them

• she and her sister dont look very much alike at all, petunia looks a lot like dad with blonde hair and a small english nose, but tuney’s skin gets really dark in the summer and she never ever burns, and she has their mama’s long, elegant fingers

• lily looks a lot more like mama, darker skin and kind of rounder nose. she’s short like mama too, has thicker and coarser hair than petunia, but their hands and chins are absolutely identical

• its hard to go to the store with just her sister and her dad, the other people always look at her like she’s the odd one out and the clerks always ask if she’s petunia’s friend from school

• the languages have always been harder for tuney, the prayers too, but they both learn really young how to make chawal kofta and the flat, oven baked bread with mama. Petunia was always better at cooking than lily, but lily still treasured the times with mama making kofte and paratha and whatever else they wanted for dinner

• when she goes to hogwarts, the tables are filled with shepherds pie and everyone’s favorite english foods, but she’s never been able to freely eat meaty english food before in case its not halal, so she has to settle for the vegetable options (which are still lovely and delicious of course)

• professor mcgonagall is the first to notice little first year lily evans isnt eating much at meals, and assures her matter-of-factly that they make accommodations at meals. professor mcgonagall becomes a fast favorite of lily’s

• lily loves her new housemates to bits, but something makes her a bit uncomfortable when little blonde emmaline vance asks “what are you” during their third evening together

• “dad’s british, mama’s pakistani and turkish” she says hesitantly, though what she wants to say is “i’m a person”

• she loves hogwarts, really she does, but she’s also kind of uncomfortable because people are always asking what she is or where she’s from, what muggles are like, and she just wants to curl up under mama’s shawls and eat desserts because she knows there’s not gelatin in them

• “i’m british” she says exasperatedly one day in third year when some boy asks her what she is for the twelfth time that year

• lily’s always been close to her culture, she loves the smell of mama’s mendhi and the cabbages pickling in the pantry, misses speaking turkish with her parents, practicing her writing after school

• petunia’s never been like that, maybe it’s because she’s the firstborn or maybe because no one believes she’s mama’s daughter, but in the summer before lily’s 7th year she brings home a man who wrinkles his nose at the keema aloo they’re having for dinner, and lily just wants to scream at him for his obvious disdain and disrespect but petunia doesn’t want her around anymore, so she eats her meal but doesn’t taste it, and escapes to her room as quickly as she can get away

• she’s back at school, irritated at the world, and the first ravenclaw who calls her features “exotic” and “different” gets punched straight in the nose and earns her a detention on her first week as head girl

• the nib of her quill breaks one day in charms, and she mutters a barrage of turkish and urdu swears, and she doesnt notice james potter look up at her from across the aisle

• he approaches her that evening, “were you swearing in hindi earlier in charms?”

• “urdu, actually,” she says, surprised. “i thought you spoke tamil”

• “i know a couple hindi words” he shrugs. “mostly the swears”

• “typical,” she rolls her eyes and walks away

• she realizes later in bed that james potter has never once asked her what she “is”

• she volunteers the information herself, next time they’re on heads patrol. “mama’s pakistani and turkish. my grandfather’s from west punjab.”

• “i always wondered” he replies easily.

• “why didnt you ask?”

• “because i know what cultural insensitivity feels like”

• a week later remus approaches her. “so. lil-ay” he says casually. “you got a favorite food?”

• she smirks. “you ever heard of lahana turşusu? Or aloo ki bugia? Baklava?”

• remus grins in reply. “no, but i can pass the message along.”

• that evening, sprinkled among the mincemeat pies and hearty stews, lily finds pickled cabbage and half circle potatoes, baklava for dessert, and she shoots a grin at james potter who sits down the row. he pushes his glasses up his nose, returns a shy smile in return, and helps himself to a heaping plate of aloo ki bugia. she asks him later how he did it; he introduces her to the house elves in return.

• james and lily swap travel stories on their next patrol. James talks excitedly about his summers on the southern coast of Tamil Nadu, of curry and spices and how the english can’t seem to be bothered to flavor their food. In return, she tells him about the palaces and museums of Lahore, how she loves the sounds of the call to prayer, the hurried bustle of the streets of Istanbul, and agrees fiercely about the English fear of flavor.

• “my real name’s janardhan” he says quietly one day. “nobody can say it though, so i go by james.”

• “my first name is ayşa” she replies. “it means ‘she who lives.’ mine’s spelled the turkish way, so no one wants to learn to pronounce it. so i go by my middle name, lily.”

• its nice, she thinks, having a friend who understands. it’s different of course; she’s never been denied help or been given lesser treatment by Slughorn, she’s never been outright bullied or hated for her skin color, but he’s never been asked what kind of asian he is or dealt with the odd misbalance of not quite belonging in a category. They both know how it feels to see their mother hated for her skin color, her clothing, her religion, her culture; and she finds it comforting to know that next time john davies calls her exotic, james potter will be near to hex him for her.


“So, you’re dating Klaus?”, Stefan confirmed with a tight jaw. Both of your brothers looked as if they were about to kill someone but you were quite used to their anger so it didn’t really face you.

“Yeah, I am. Sorry, but you can’t really tell me what to do even though neither of you want me dating him. I like him and that’s it”, you stated, which didn’t go over well with your brothers.

“We could just lock you in the basement and vervain you until you no longer want to date him”, Damon suggested and as usual his plans were gritty. You gave him a sweet smile, walked up to him and but a hand on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, because then you would have a thousand year old hybrid after you and I wouldn’t be there to stop him from killing you.” At those words both Stefan and Damon stayed quite. A simple silent look passed between them that said that they didn’t like this one bit but that they were completely unable to do anything about it.

~ Requested by @sassy-lyds ~

Thank you so much for the request!! <3

Has anyone else tired of the grim realism “anyone can die” thing in television? There is a point, I believe, at which character death and violence ceases to become meaningful or even provocative, and just becomes senseless.

Killing off important characters, when you first do it, is daring. It takes tremendous artistic and creative confidence to believe that your audience will keep watching. But when such deaths become the defining part of a series, what does that tell us? Not to commit to anyone. That the story we’re watching is pointless, because the characters’ lives are ultimately meaningless.

I’m tired of nihilism in 2015. I am no longer shocked; I am merely bored.

anonymous asked:

YINNIE. I saw your Drabble game thingy, and if you're still wanting to do that, may I request 70 with Binnie? >\\\\< if you're not doing this anymore, then feel free to ignore. -sugar plum anon

Yeah, I’m still going with this drabble game for as long as I get request, or until I get tired of it (it just began tho)

Your request wasn’t the first, but I got inspired hehe ^^ It still took me much longer than I thought, I kept writing then deleting then writing again… s frustrating ! But I’m finally done, and I’m kinda satisfied ^^

70 : “Will you accept that I am hopelessly in love with you, and that there’s nothing you can do that will ever change that?”

Let me call you mine

/!\ Moonbin is normal-sized here /!\

Tonight is movie night, the table in front of the couch is full of food for you and (mostly) Moonbin to share. You are watching some comedy but you can’t really tell what the movie is about because of your insecurities.

“Hey, Binnie..”

“Yeah ?”

“Is there something wrong with me ?”

“What ? What are you saying, you are perfectly fine”

“But… I’ve never got any boyfriend yet, and I’ve been friend-zoned or simply rejected by all the guys I confessed to. There must be a reason.”

You can hear Moonbin sigh as he softly takes your head in his hands and locks eyes with you. You are about to cry and the sight breaks his heart. He wants to kiss your tears away but this might make you uncomfortable.

“Like I said, you are perfectly fine y/n. You are pretty the way you are and you are such a wonderful person, you just keep falling for the wrong one. None of those guys deserve you, they can’t see the real you. It’s their lost, they don’t know what they’re missing.”

You sigh and look away from your best friend. His eyes are so soft and full of care it makes your heart melt. But you don’t want to fall for Moonbin, he would reject you and you don’t want that. You don’t want to lose your most precious friend.

“I’d like to believe you, but… Honestly, who would love me ?”

That’s it. Moonbin can’t contain his feelings anymore. He has to say it.


“Wh-what ?”

“I would love you y/n. No, I love you already. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t even know how I lived without you, how I was happy without you and… and I don’t want to know because I don’t want to live without you by my side. I love you so much y/n, yet you keep falling for other guys. Whenever your hearts get broken I’m here to gather the pieces, hoping that one day you’ll finally notice me…”

“… You… you love me ? No… I can’t believe you. You are just saying what I want to hear but you don’t have to, it’s ok I-”

You stop rambling when Moonbin groans in frustration and puts his hands on your shoulder, once again locking eyes with you.

“God, y/n. Why can’t you accept that I am hopelessly in love with you, and that there’s nothing you can say that will ever change that ? I want to hug you and kiss you everyday, I wake up thinking of you, I fall asleep thinking of you and every night I dream about the day when I can finally call you mine !”

His eyes are full of determination, yet so soft and loving. You let your tears fall as you think that maybe for once you should believe in yourself, in Moonbin.

“You too… You are the best thing that ever happened to me. And I would gladly let you call me yours.”

You smile at your best friend - no, your boyfriend - as his eyes widen in shock. He quickly recovers though, and chuckles a small “finally” before leaning in for a kiss.


“Moonbin… Moonbin wake up !”

*whines* “Hm… just five more minutes please”

“Moonbin, you have to wake up now or we’ll go walk Rocket without you.”

“… Rocket ? Wait…”

Realization hits Moonbin and he suddenly feels very awake as he stands up and looks at you then at himself. He isn’t taller than you, instead he is pocket-sized as he’s always been. He didn’t become your boyfriend and this was just a dream.

“Ah, you finally got out of your bed. Now get ready while I make breakfast for everyone.”

You head for the kitchen and soon after the little boy lets out a scream full of frustration in his pillow.

“Jinjin-hyung, Binnie-hyung is screaming again. Should we go and check him ?”

“No, just let him be Sanha. He must have made another dream about being big and dating y/n. I swear, he should stop watching dramas before sleeping.”

So I’m also making this the third part of Moonbin’s series Wanna be taller ^^

Send me 1-3 number and I’ll write about it (if no member precised I do according to my inspiration)

Life.. has betrayed me once again
I accept that some things will never change.
I’ve let your tiny minds magnify my agony
and it’s left me with a chemical dependency for sanity.

Yes, I am falling… how much longer ‘till I hit the ground?
I can’t tell you why I’m breaking down.
Do you wonder why I prefer to be alone?
Have I really lost control?

I’m coming to an end,
I’ve realized what I could have been.
I can’t sleep so I take a breath and hide behind my bravest mask,
I admit I’ve lost control
Lost control…

—  Anathema, Lost control

Step one for recovery: promise myself I won’t look up my abuser ever again.

He is no longer in my life and he has no power over me. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing or saying because I am more important than anything he can tell people about me.


I have to work on my thesis. don’t wanna. but I gotta. if i want to graduate this semester at last. also going to start compiling these 5 short eldritch stories into a larger anthology while i’m at it and work on getting that published as long as i’m in “work mode.” Might as well use it. Anthologies are useful to preview what an author can do in longer works and might be a good ice breaker. if i have the proro of the anthology published as a thesis at my univeristy for my master’s degree i’ll be halfway there. giving myself goals. dragging myself out of depression page by page.

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Line art
head - 6$
half body - 16$
full body - 22$

Flat color
head - 10$
half body - 20$
full body - 26$

Full color
head - 20$
half body - 30$
full body - 36$

50% extra cost per one additional character in one canvas.
Simple backgrounds are free.
Detailed backgrounds are cost extra. (Very flexible)
If your character is very detailed that will cost extra.
Feel free to your personal use, but please don’t resell it!

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Gif source:  (Unknown)

Imagine Peter breaking up with you because you’re too immature.

——— Request for anon ———

“Can you be serious for one second?” he growls, before shaking his head in resignation, “No, you know what? Forget it. Forget it all.”

“What are you talking about, Peter?” you cross your arms over your chest, locking a leg under you as you lean on it, giving a stance of unsatisfied sass, “I am serious! It’s just that you’re never any fun! You never tell me anything!”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Peter sighs, running a hand over his jaw as he meets you dead in the eyes, “I can’t handle your immaturity a moment longer.”

It’s hard to hear the phrase
‘You’ve changed’
because it implies that at one time
I was just an idea to you–
an imprint of permanence in your
brain that you had grown to like
and that I needed your permission
if I wanted to become someone new.

You’re not allowed to appreciate
flowers anymore if you can’t respect
the fact that I can grow from my roots
and I can be whoever the hell I want
to be and you have no say in what
is beautiful or not, you can’t pick
and choose pieces of me that you
like and toss away the pieces that
you don’t, you do not have the
power to keep me the way I am–
or rather the way you want me to be
because I am human and I am free
and I am not just what you want to see.

Don’t look at me after
a year or two and see somebody
that you couldn’t alter to fit–
don’t tell me that I’ve changed
in the sense that I’m no longer
good enough for you–
because baby when I changed,
I changed my mind about you too.

—  People are flowers and fuck you if you’re trying to kill them just so they will stay the same for you
Alley Scene Argument

“What am I supposed to do, Felicity? Hmm?” Oliver bit his lip as he stared at her with equal parts resignation and indignation. “All I can see right now is that Ra’s Al Ghul, the most dangerous assassin known to man, a man who has lived far longer than anyone has any right to, he’s going to find out I’m still alive, and then he’s going to come after me. He’s going to find out who really killed Sara, and he’s going to go after Thea. I went up against him before, and he almost killed me. I can’t defeat him. Not without help. And the only one I know of right now is Malcolm Merlyn. So tell, me, what am I supposed to do?”

“Malcolm Merlyn is a liar, and a manipulator! Have you forgotten that he leveled half of the Glades? That he killed your best friend?”

“I haven’t forgotten! Of course I haven’t forgotten! I know he killed Tommy, and my father, and turned Thea into a killer! But what choice do I have, Felicity? Tell me! What am I supposed to do? How the hell do I defeat Ra’s Al Ghul?”

“I don’t know, Oliver! But working with Malcolm is not the answer!”

“Well, it’s the only one I’ve got!”

“There has to be another way,” Felicity growled.

“Tell me,” he answered, clenching his teeth. “I will consider any and all suggestions you have.”

Her silence spoke volumes.

He took a deep breath to rein in his emotions. “I know you’re upset that things between us–”

“This isn’t about us, Oliver,” she bit out. “As far as I’m concerned, there is no ‘us.’ You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

Oliver’s face fell. He took a step forward and grasped her by the arms. “You know why. You know how much I love you, and I would love nothing more than to be with you, the way you and I both want me to. But I can’t abandon this city. I don’t get to have a normal life.”

“I’m not asking you to abandon anything, Oliver! You think I want a normal life? You think I want a house with the white picket fence and 2.5 children and a dog? Or in your case, a villa in the south of France?”

Oliver blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to reply. “You said…you wanted more out life than this.”

She clutched a handful of his shirt, shaking him a little as she shouted back at him. “I want you, dammit! Just you!”

He stared into her tearful eyes, stunned into silence. She interpreted his reticence as hesitation, and yanked her arms away from his grasp. She turned and fled away from him, wiping her face as she ran.

Oliver stared at her retreating form, unable to form coherent thoughts. His heart beat wildly in his chest. His lungs felt locked up, unable to draw breath. Her words rang loudly in his mind, and something seemed to shift inside him. Was it really possible? Could he…could he possibly…

There was a tiny voice inside that shouted at him to go after her, to pull her into his arms, to kiss the living daylights out of her and never let her go, but his feet felt glued to the concrete, and his entire body seemed paralyzed. He couldn’t move forward, but he sure as hell couldn’t go backward. Why couldn’t he move?


Diggle’s voice behind him startled him out of his paralysis, and he finally took a deep breath. He turned to face his partner. “Dig.”

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, and shook himself from his thoughts. It was too much to think about right now, so he tucked it away for later. “Everything’s fine. Let’s go back inside.”

“Where’s Felicity?”

He didn’t answer.

anonymous asked:

Hi!! I read "Have you ever" (twice actually, but I'm trying to sound cool lol) and I lovelovelove it soooo much!! It is incredible, congrats on your writing! But can you please tell me what happened the next day? I know you left it there for us to imagine and I'm not asking for a second part and not even a blurb, just a little something like if she asked him and if in your mind as the author he confessed or dodged or whatever. Hope you don't mind. (PS: I'm not ass-kissing, i do love your writing

Hello helloooooo! I am so very happy you enjoyed it! I can tell you what happens but that would take all the fun away from the part two I’m writing… ;) if you wait a tini tiiiiny bit longer, you’ll be able to see it for yourself! ;) Thank you so much for reading! <3

So, skaikru is no longer the 13th clan. So Clarke isn’t living with Lexa as an ambassador. She’s there because that’s where she’s safe. Because of Pike she can’t go back (actually she could, she could go back and declare loyalty to skaikru and tell them all she’s learned that they could use against Lexa and the grounders. She could be an asset and Pike would realize this BUT since she’s not ever going to do that….).

And I suppose because Polis feels like home now. Gosh, what price am I going to pay for the emotional satisfaction of Clexa right now …

Burry all the pain that you’ve tried to hide from me -
there is no hurt like that of loving.
There is no dance like that
of hope, in my bed sheets.
Stripping and aching. 
Fate works for us, always apologizing. 
You tell me that you are sorry
for nothing.
Love, I am a flower petal:
crush me under your heel.
Turn my hurt into pigment.
God tell me, how do you feel?
Hope: teach me your openness.
Every man in my bed is a hand down my throat. 
I am a triggering note.
I am all that’s leftover
after the smoke.
Burry the letters you wrote me  -
I no longer have faith in honesty. 
What do we have left
that our gods can’t see?
You are all that’s remaining of poetry.
I do not like to speak ill of my body,
but I’ll let you see it all, if you’re wondering.
The stars in my stomach are fire,
I’m glowing.
Burn all of your anger inside of me.
Burry me.
Love: when we promise to stay quiet,
I’ll scream. 
I’ve come to expect all this suffering.
We are more than our pasts make us out to be
but I still squeeze your hands when I know that you’re hurting.
I am the sauce pan left on the stove,
This is the scene where we’re ending:
We empty ourselves of our agony,
and find out that leaves us with nothing.
—  Stripping and Aching; Hannah Beth Ragland

I’m sick of people asking me what I’m mixed with or where I am from. I’m not mixed and I reside in the Midwest where I was born and raised. I have a black father and black mother. There is nothing unique that sets us apart from other black people. It makes me so depressed whenever a black man inquires about my background and when I tell them I am just black they say black people don’t have good hair like yours. WHY? It makes me so angry and I’m sick of having to give them the whole spill of how different we can be as a people. I no longer date back men who like me for “looking biracial.” I am a black woman and your comments you make about black women not looking the way I do insult me. I can’t help what I look like. I was not raised thinking my features or my hair looked better then my mother’s or my sisters. I am black, I am black please stop assuming that those of us with a loser curl pattern or lighter skin or not just black.

I called my parents tonight with my voice shaking and tear stained cheeks.

“Mommy,” I mumbled with my failed effort to keep my voice steady. What next? I am out of words. All I have are my monsters pinning me against the wall. How do I tell them that their happy, little girl is gone? Where do I go from this mess? What am I supposed to say when all I can feel is the fear of failing?

“Stop crying,” I heared over the other line. The tears came faster and with anguish. There was no gentleness, no ‘it’s okay, we understand.’ Nothing. All I heard was the coldness and the disappointment. Stop crying, you say. But I can’t.

Mommy, I’m sorry I can no longer be your baby girl who loves to smile. I can no longer be the ray of sunshine you thought I was.

Mommy, I’m sorry that you got yourself a messed up daughter.

Mommy, I’m sorry but I no longer want to wake up tomorrow.