roses are red, violets are blue, phil lester is a beautiful man whom i love with the entirety of my ass and i want him to be happy always and forever, living life carefree with flowers in his hair and warmth in his heart
1. When you purchase Winter clothes which promise that they will protect you from the elements, but it turns out that they only mean some elements and plutonium is not one of them, and you have become too dead in the process of finding this out to ask for a refund.
2. When your snowmen become charmingly alive and you spend a bittersweet night drinking advocaat with them before the forecast thaw and cursing the dawn; after which point they melt into yellow slush in the yard and multiple passers-by draw inferences about your household’s urination preferences.
3. When you fall in love with Winter and Winter falls in love with you and you elope together to live in carefree abandon an industrial meat freezer, depriving everyone else of Winter and leading to catastrophic atmospheric warming.
4. When you wake up in the morning to a great hushed whiteness outside the window and you think that it might be the million albino cats come to pay you homage that were forecast at your birth by your sinister goblin aunt, but it’s actually snow, like it’s always been.
5. When you accidentally put some Winter an unlabelled seasoning jar on the shelf with the spices, and Winter in a jar looks a bit like salt, so sometimes when your food needs a little seasoning you end up making it a bit saltier and sometimes you end up knocking it off the plate with an icy blast of hailstones.
6. When you think Winter has finally packed up and slouched off to the other pole of the Earth for a while, but it turns out Winter left a bunch of its crap at your place and every few days there’s a knock at the window and ‘Hi, it’s Winter!’ and you have to go and dig out your warm coat again whilst Winter rummages around outside trying to find that icicle it thinks it left somewhere.
We all make mistakes, have struggles, and even regret things in our past. But you are not your mistakes, you are not your struggles, and you are here NOW with the power to shape your day and your future.
We cannot continue to raise our generation with the ideals of “Black people don’t do that.” Because that’s destroying the what ifs in us black girls. Countless times I’ve thought about taking my piercings out, covering my tattoos and taming my hair in hopes they’ll stop talking about me… That I’ll be accepted.
We gotta stop telling black girls who are alternative that they’re trying to be white or make assumptions of their sexuality because of their stretched ears and piercings. We gotta stop telling black girls with natural hair that their hair is too nappy or they don’t know how to do their hair and need a perm. We gotta stop telling the black girls with a sleeve of tattoos that they’re trying to be white and no man would want them covered in ink. We gotta stop sexualizing young black girls and telling them not to dress comfortably because of men around them, stop demonizing black children and start questioning the male family members and friends that stare inappropriately. Your child isn’t grown the person staring is a pervert and needs to stay from your kids.
Its honestly frustrating when other races tries to keep black people is a status quo beneath them, but it breaks my fucking heart… It brings tears in my eyes as I’m writing this that my own people would rather put me in a box and tell me I’m not worthy of my own race than let me flourish and be myself but and would rather tear me down to their “normalcy” to make them comfortable.
We cannot continue to raise our generation with the ideals of “Black people don’t do that.” BECAUSE BLACK PEOPLE CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK THEY WANT.
Why I don’t care for the black girl magic movement anymore...
I used to think it was a space for black girls and women to escape free of judgment, where we can be ourselves and appreciate who we are. But much like many things rooted in pro-blackness or black empowerment, it’s just a place of popularity, superficial beliefs and respectability that places certain black women over one another.
The only one’s seen as magical are the pretty one’s, the smart one’s and the so called “ Respectable Queens”.
The magical black girls I see are the one’s from the hood, wearing their colorful hair and unconventional fashion and beauty, the one’s you all post on sites mocking them calling them “hot ghetto messes”, who let their creativity shine through their hair, language, and hearts, those are my magical black girls. The ghetto hood black girls living carefree in their individuality that doesn’t conform to obedience and and the straight and narrow.
The fat black girls turned into memes and jokes but are some of the most powerful, beautiful, vulnerable, love-able, courageous people on the planet.
The black mothers in the strip clubs able to turn a dollar into thousands, to feed their children and put themselves through school, when people counted them out. That’s the most amazing magic I’ve ever seen.
The loud black women who are not politicians but regular everyday black women with a message.
The lgbt black girls and women who are invisible.
The black girls who are told “You’re making us look bad”.
The disabled black girls and women who defied the odds.
The black girls who are not courageous, educated, beautiful, or strong. But broken, hurt, and uneducated and not beautiful.
I’m just tired of seeing the poster child of black girl magic being only the Solange types . The super beautiful celebrities at award shows, the black women in college who are doctors and lawyers. Yes they’re magical black girls, but all magical black girls don’t look like them or share their success.
Most of the magical black girls who make a sincere difference are the one’s who are excluded from the black girl magic movement. So consider me a part of the excluded group until black girl magic realizes all black girls can be magical and represents all of us.
Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep out alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no when you don’t want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you’re doing here.
The idea that cis lesbians are living these wonderful, fabulous, carefree lives where homophobia is not a big deal anymore is also baseless and nonsense. From having been literally kicked out, to being Christian conversion therapy bullshit for Christmas, to many people finding “lesbian” itself gross or suspicious or backwards, to the pressure on those of us who are gnc to stop calling ourselves women in favor of something cooler than leaves “woman” to good (read: feminine) women, to the fact that lesbians are still being murdered in hate crimes every year, to public harassment, to being unsure whether wearing a tie to an interview will cost you a job, and so on and so on. I guarantee homophobia is neither gone nor just not a big deal.
Wimbledon White 1967 Ford Mustang GT-A fastback - that’s the colour of carefree living. The first colour television
broadcast in the UK, as well as in Europe, took place on 1 July 1967,
the first Saturday of the 81st staging of the Wimbledon Championships on BBC2 (Wikipedia).
I asked my grown ass husband last night what his Lazysona would be if he lived in Lazytown and I thought he’d just shrug but he immediately came up with this entire detailed answer, where his colors would be red and gray, and he’d be the town photographer but he hoped that Stingy didn’t steal his camera, and he said that he’d be a puppet because they ‘lived a more carefree lifestyle’, and I asked if we could still be in love if he was a puppet and I was a human and he said yes, because Lazytown is a progressive town.