For the girls whose skin is kissed by the sun.
With a head full of kinks and curls that take a life of its own.
We were made in Mother Earth’s image alone.
From the curve of our Cupid’s Bow, to the well in our neck.
Black girls are magic through flesh and bone.
WE. ARE. MAGICK.
this is me. I struggled so much throughout my life because I felt less than all because of my skin. as I spent grades k-10 in a predominately white school and neighborhood, all of my friends were pretty with straight hair, narrow noses, and what I saw as the “perfect” skin tone. I would stay out of the sun, and even sneak to use my moms discoloration cream on my whole body. I was so sure that to be pretty I had to be fair-skinned. 10 years later I am so happy with the skin im in. I’m proud of my hair (though it can be a pain in the ass to detangle). I am proud of my skin because of how it is glowing, not because I have perfectly healthy skin, but because of the color. I am proud of what is behind my appearance. my hair, my lips, my nose, my skin color – it all traces back to my ancestors who were kings and queens. my skin encourages me and reminds me that I am capable of anything just because of who I am. I come from a brave, smart, and thriving people. I am so proud of my culture, I am so proud of my skin, and I am so proud of how far I have come. If you get nothing else from this message, please know that you are beautiful and strong and can take on anything! There’s power in the melanin! Love you all and happy blackout Friday!! 😘✊‼️❤️⬛️
Growing up I had an older brother that was light skin, great at nearly everything and pretty much knew everyone. This pretty much always made me that much more self aware because we were brothers there was always a comparison who’s cuter, who looks better, etc. I’ve never spoken on the type of self hate and overall hateful outlook I use to have on myself because of this. I was the loud, rambunctious, small and lanky dark skin younger brother and to make it even better I was just Super Gay even as a child my gayness just radiated off me. So I acted as most Black Young Skinny Flamboyant Gays Boys did with a lot of Attitude and Always on the attack if need be. I would immediately attack or be ready to read someone to filth if they came for me in anyway and I never understood why I was such a problem for people but I didn’t have time to reflect or understand I had to protect myself because no one else would do it. Fast Forward to a year after I graduated and thats when the first couple pictures were taken, Looking at these pictures I can remember scrutinizing everything about how my nose looked big, my eyes looked stupid, my lips were huge and how my skin was just wasn’t even and it just looked horrible and I can also remember this was the year a man first told me I was beautiful, that I was the most gorgeous boy he’s ever seen and I loved it. The feeling I got when men told me these things or said them over and over. I can recall spending an afternoon with this guy and he called me beautiful about 10 times in a hour and I remember the feeling of power and strength I felt I had because of this. My 19th year of life was the year I began to find sexual freedom in men they would drape me in looks of lustful thoughts and appraising words. In those moments it would feel good but the times after I would never feel complete or whole. I wondered why just there admiration of me would allow me to open up or even let me share apart of myself with them. Now reflecting I realized I was never one with myself, never being told I was beautiful or enough by the ones who have seen the transitions of my entire life scorned me and it made me retreat to a place within me that left me feeling that I wasn’t worthy of being told such a profound statement. It’s so hard sometimes because you never realize what type of misconceptions society can put on you I can adamantly remember always feeling like the ugliest boy just because I was the darkest and this was even before anyone ever told me that being dark skin was looked at with a negative perception which I later did learn when I started to get teased for being so Black and so Gay and thus actually informed me that my insecurities were in fact valid. I never once told anyone though not my mom, brothers, sister or any of family. I learned to protect myself and to just keep moving and to never rely on others that wouldn’t and could not help me anyway like my mother and father. This built resentment for them but a hatred for myself that I could never really understand until I shared it with others in the moments of physical and sexual refuge. It was then that I realized how much I really hated me how much i had come to look at myself as a “disgusting” human being because I allowed myself to have feelings for men and gave them pieces of me with them only telling me of there surface admiration of me. Never once have I had a gentleman tell me he loved me for my mind, spirit, heart, or personality. Just my facial features or traits of my body that I myself was not only comfortable with but had never felt as though there was real beauty within them anyway.
In figuring this out I stopped any sexual refuge and began to try and find out who I was and if I could ever find beauty within myself. In this time I realized I hated both my mother and my father, my brother and my sister all for reasons of painful deception and inflicting a deeper cut of hate that I already had within myself. My brother with his early words of hate like “Faggot” and “Gay Ass Bitch” that were so often said I actually got used to them and saw them as nonchalant as words like stupid or ugly. My sister for always being my refuge always being my crutch and breaking that bond with her own selfish and greedy actions. My Father for never being there for always choosing a life of indecency and for spending more time and years in a jail system then out of it & for allowing me to be looked at as a stereotype of being a young black boy who grew up without a father and that being the reason I sought after the company of other men, which was the farthest thing from the truth. Lastly My Mother the woman who in fact carried me for nine months and birthed me yet the woman i’ve never felt a connection with i’m pretty sure my mother like other people saw a difference in me that was very different than many others boy and that I had a walk, talk and a “switch” that she so often called it that me “serving young boy fish realness” written all over it, but I never saw warmth or safety with in my mom. Part of the reason I think I never told my mom of the gay slurs or fights I would get into because of how I walked, talked or expressed myself was because she was one of the individauls who actually would be bringing me down like those who didn’t even know me but just saw me and judged me. I can remember my mom asking with disgust and dismay why do I walk or talk like I did. As if I had an answer for her, as if there were any other answer than “I was born this way”. So it was in those moments that I completely shut off a emotional connection with her and then in the more compelled and troubled teenage years I found hateful words, statements and actions that were done to me from and I to her. I know that wholeheartedly the actions of my mom are what always gave me the negative perception of who I was. It always made me put my guard up with others and to protect myself from everyone at all costs. She always had this way of being sarcastic and abrasive with a ere of disapproval that I had come to not only know but actually begin to master in my own right & use in the effect of others as well as her. The moral of the entire passage is that i’am that stereotypical gay flamboyant black boy who talks kind of loud and can be kind of bitchy and use to love drama (as in mess) and always felt alone and like no one understood me. Yes I was teased for doing what felt natural to me hanging with girls, shaking my ass, or even rolling my neck and snapping with my hands. Even after coming to terms with my sexuality there were things that I still felt alone about because I would never be the gay that new Old Hollywood Movies or Broadway Plays and could recite them word for word or knew any Liza Minelli or Cher or Madonna songs or knew any song by any white musicians made after 2000s it just wasn’t me. I loved New music I loved feeling like that a hard gangster rap made you feel like you lived that life or how pop songs made you feel cute and bubbly and how a good R&B made you feel the pain of being in love. I would never be the perfect candidate for any category of gay conceptions I was kind of tall super skinny, dark and slightly hairy especially in some areas & I’ve never been one for consistency shaving or waxing. An unfortunately even with all of these my most desired type of man were those I had grown up with who became products of their environment by selling drugs, and portraying themselves in a more thuggish or gangster persona and with that persona came the understanding that no matter how much they cared for me or maybe even loved me the actions and image they put on to the world became the one that guaranteed their livelihood and the progression of it & because of this they would always have to remain in a closet one in which I had never been accustomed to and could never allow myself to always feel like someones secret or a lie that could never see the light of day. My Point for writing all of this was to give you a slight back story of me but not to in anyway make may me seem as if I’m a victim or I need any pity or remorse but to show that I am a living, breathing progression of a person. To show that i’am a DARK SKIN GAY BOY that grew up in the hood and it was hard Ive had days when I asked god why did he make me like this, why couldn’t I be light skin like my brother or why did people have to tease me , why didn’t anyone love me and those feelings an emotions stayed with me even at 19, 20, and even 21. I’ve had breakdowns when I still ask questions of why me but I now realize it was because I was strong enough for it. It was because through my own misconceptions of myself I had to have people tear me down and destroy so that when I built myself back up and ignorance would be thrown my way in the words of faggot, or gay bitch or bitch ass nigga , or my black ass or my nappy headed ass. Thats words and phrases like this wouldn’t hold any willpower over me they would be mere insecure phrases that people learned to use for people like me that seem to be hurting the perception of black America in today’s society and more importantly what a Black Man is in today’s society. Recently though I had a person close to me share a very personal secret with me and after I cried because it showed me that when you push through even when you feel like a failure and you see that you could be so much more than what you are. That when you don’t allow others words to not be your defeat you don’t allow there words to break or destroy your happiness or you perception of kindness and beauty in the world. You can change a person who may change the world. None of it easy, life has it’s ups and downs, highs and lows there are so many times when we don’t do something or go after something or speak up for ourselves out of fear. Fear of judgement, ridicule, beliefs, opinions but being who you are, accepting that and living organic can be your greatest gift to the world . No matter what you may feel if your able to help someone, society may not always look at you with great intention but if you reach out and help that one little boy or girl or even man or woman that may be going through the same ordeals, trials or situation as you and they can see you as a beacon of hope. Than thats what life is worth , love is worth it , fighting through those words, other actions, or even overcoming hate within the world or yourself is worth it. I want my greatest gift that I share with another person or the world to be Love and Happiness. Because thats what changes the World A Spark in one Can Start The Flame of Millions & I Intend to Change The World.