my-lips-too-big

GOT7 reacting to you being to short to kiss them.

Hiii 😊 Can u do a got7 reaction when you’re too short to kiss them on their lips so u just kiss their neck instead 😳

Mark: He would find is so cute, and he would definitely lean in on you so you could reach his lips.

“You know you look so cute trying to jump?”

Originally posted by jackseunie

JB: He would like it and he wouldn’t really care if from now you kiss his neck instead of his lips.

Why aren’t you kissing me back?”

I like it when you kiss my neck.”

Originally posted by jypnior

Jackson: He would tease you a lot and he would find it so freaking adorable. He would also make fun of you that you’re tinier than him because he thinks he’s not that long himself. (oml i hope this makes sense)

“Hehe, you’re so tiny.”

“Stop it shithead.”

Originally posted by sevendless

Junior: Just like Mark he would think it’s cute and would lean into you so you can kiss him properly.

“You look so funny from up here.”

Originally posted by jypnior

Youngjae: He would find it really cute and wanted you to do it more often.

“You can do that more often, if you want.”

Originally posted by jiminthebun

BamBam: He would react so sassy to it.

“Can’t you reach my lips?”

“Am I too big for you?” *wink wink*

But if you get mad he would give in and lean in to kiss you anyway.

Originally posted by got7europe

Yugyeom: He would find it so cute and would get all shy, like literally he would like it so much t wouldn’t stop smiling all day.

“Yugyeom, are you okay?”

Originally posted by yuginom

2

This set is a peak at a Natural & Gap appreciation photoshoot.
I never smile like this and this was my first actual photoshoot ever in life! I grew up believing my lips were too big and my mouth too wide for pictures like this. I wanted to get braces just to close the Gap in my teeth …… But I jumped at the chance to take pictures for a “ Love Yourself ” series a friend is putting together. Her vision is beautiful and powerful and I am so inspired by these photos and can’t wait to view the full project. I am definitely learning everyday to love every part of Me 😬

I hate my face

I hate my cheeks. They block my cheek bones.
I hate my eyelashes. They’re too long.
I hate my lips. They’re too big.
I hate my birthmarks. They’re too noticeable.
I hate my smile. It’s not a nice smile to look at.
I hate my eyebrows. Thanks a lot mom.

age of culture appropriation


kylie jenner’s plucked and tucked new lips are a fashion trend, where my “trendy” lips are far too big to fit in.

 iggy azealia’s big butt is so fancy, while nicki minaj’s or my own is so disgusting white people dont wanna be next to me

chanel’s tie cap is trendy and urban, but it’s almost a sin when a du rag is worn by my black men (god forbid a man in a turban)

kylie’s dread extensions are “edgy” and “fun,” but a real rasta man with free formed locs is nasty and they must stink for his are not done to society’s preference 

vanessa hudgens (and countless white women of america) wear bindis for fashion statements, but when you see young indian woman with hers, you flash back to 9/11, clutch on to your child in fear that you’ll be assassinated 

you want to be like us: you dress like us, talk like us, then make fun of us because we are us.when for centuries we have tried to look like you

you took us from our nation, faced with manipulation while they traded us from station to station

you’ve taken everything from us, from our families to our style..

while at the same time punishing us for laughing just a little bit too loud

we straightened our hair - for your approval and acceptance - 

relaxers, burning kitchens, tidied kitchens, skulls swollen from the hot comb, burns on our fingers, blisters, reminding me of the times where my ancestors had to bow down to their misters. 

my brown eyes ripped open and ripped from their sockets from the tears millions of little black girls cried, begging for their eyes to be blue.

begging our mothers for relaxers cause our locs, our coils, our curls weren’t pretty enough for you.

with my 3 bundles of 30 inches of Malaysian hair down my back hitting my back like the 30 lashes - the 40 lashes that hit my ancestors’ back.

trying to fit in a system that was never created for me… i’ve lost sight who i truly must be..

An angry black woman.and i’m sensitive about my people - my culture.

my culture that was traded for a few guns (more manipulation), put on a boat and snatched from my motherland 

my gold 

my diamonds 

my kingdoms 

my glory 

my history

my land…that “they” claim is so barren now 

well now it is since they stole everything  

well now it is because they’ve raped our entire being

since they have tried to erase our entire meaning…

lets not forget to how they call our children fatherless, but fail to mention that they incarcerate and kill all of our men

calling our women crazy, loud, rude and obnoxious after centuries of beating and rapings in front of their own children

calling our children promiscuous, stupid, thugs when they’ve given the white people all the privilege one too many claim that they don’t have. 

shutting down our schools, foreclosing our homes, killing our leaders, taking away any positivity from our communities.

this system isn’t corrupt - it just was never made for us. 

kittyquel  asked:

Your past self is gonna have to square up because your lips are so gorgeous. it's so strange how the things people are insecure about are usually the most wonderful thing about them. Also @/staff needs to square up too because I can't like posts twice ://

omg thank you 🙈🙈 ikr i always used to think my lips were too big but now i have friends who wish their lips were bigger and i’m just like ?? oh how the turntables

5

A lot of my friends ask me how I’ve gotten to be so confident. And I usually say “I’ve always been this way.” But that’s not true. I think my lips are too big, I wear to many protective hair style because I’m scared or what other might think of my natural hair, my hips are to wide and my butt is to big. But I love my lips, I love my hair, I love my hips and my butt. Being confident isn’t thinking you are perfect, but being okay that you aren’t. I love these pictures because I look so at peace with myself, so content in my own beautiful black skin.
“ My favorite shirt is my skin.”

Its funny how everything I used to get bullied for is now trendy.
My lips were too big. My ass was too thick. My hair too curly.
But NOW you wanna look like me asking dumbass questions like “how did you get your lips so so lush” bitch i was born this way! Have you never seen a black person, like damn I know we in a white neighborhood but Google is still free. You can’t get these lips without the emotional labor that came with em.

Love/Hate Relationship with my face

For the past week I’ve been like oml i’m so ugly my nose is too big my eyes are too small i don’t like my face
but now
at 2 AM
i think my nose is rlly cute
and my eyes are pretty
and the slight sunburn i got the other day makes it look a lil like i’m blushing
and my eyebrows aren’t that bad
and I look good with messy hair
and my lips aren’t too big

and this is JUST REALLY NICE
(or maybe it’s the sleep deprivation and caffeine talking idk but it still feels good to feel good) 

C: I keep seeing black women talk about how they are tired of black men; tired of waiting on them and tired of being disrespected by them. I hear them talk about how they are going to stop dating black men and move on to white men and men of other races. The thing that gets to me is that it is not just black men who do these things; in reality we really don’t get love from anyone. I grew up in predominantly white areas. I was always being called ugly by white boys; telling me my nose and lips were too big and saying I would look better with straighter hair. I guess what I’m trying to say is it’s annoying hearing black women say that dating non-black men is the answer to the problem of black men who continue to hate on black women when in actuality, white people/non-blacks are just as bad. At the end of the day they are the oppressors not to mention many white men especially who have this attraction for black women fetishize the hell out of us. I’m in college now and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard white guys and other non-blacks say things like, “I’ve never been with a black girl before”. That shit is not flattering to me at all. I realize there are non-black men that have genuine attraction to black women and actually appreciate us, but I believe there are way more BLACK men who do the same. I’m just tired of seeing black women continue to write off black men because of a few self-hating, Becky loving, misogynistic fools. They aren’t all like that. I still have faith in black love and I wish others would too. Why can other races be happy with their own people, but not us?

From All Lives Matter to WhiteGirlsBreakTheInternet from Slavery

Why do white people see black joy and immediately try to dismiss it?

I’ll answer: Because they don’t think we deserve joy or to be able to see the beauty in ourselves. Our lives don’t matter. 

There are real life slavery apologists alive and well today. The actual belief held by white people that slavery ‘wasn’t so bad’ is proof of that. White people who prey upon black people’s insecurities whether it be our heritage, the way we speak, how black we are, who buys false hair, our very culture that is a mixture of what they forced on us, remixes from West Africa, or our own original creations are all a result of an America who has not answered for its sins. 

Nothing is post racial unless there is a resolution to why us of indigenous African descent are classified in the first place. Why did white people feel the need to make a negro/nigger? 

Slavery echoes through the halls of buildings I walk in, roads I travel on, it’s even in my name. It’s the way my mother says ‘she’s black’ not ‘african’. It’s the way the joking notions of ‘I’m something mixed with black’, the fixation on ‘good hair’, and yellabones. It’s me thinking my lips are too big, my hair needs to be straighter. It’s the brightness filter on my camera. It is my life, a daily reminder. The language I’ll never know. I’m only here because someone on that slave vessel survived. It’s bonafide for me. 

Slavery DESTROYED the way Africans thought about themselves. Before you say ‘Africans sold other Africans’, But they all knew who they were. Africans were not selling other Africans because they were black. But white people enslaved Africans because they were black. This is a fact. This isn’t debatable.

But the core at why white people get defensive of slavery and apologetic for it’s abuses is because blackness isn’t something they are required to respect. I’ve experienced this first hand.

From a casual meeting with a white person I didn’t know, a teacher, another teacher, former white friends, the dismissal of a struggle that I go through everyday that was not my own fault. ‘Africans enslaved other africans, the war wasn’t about slavery, my ancestors were Irish (so is my last name. NEXT) and it goes on. There is a blatant disrespect for black life that astounds me at times.

Race is very much a political power. A caste. You could be extremely wealthy and if visibly black you are denied things white people get.

In Charles Chestnut’s  The House Behind the Cedars, he chronicles the life of a light skinned black woman and her white passing children. While the darker skinned black people struggle to recognized as human, the son of the woman John Walden passes and becomes a Lawyer, even marries a white daughter of a plantation owner. But it all falls apart if ‘the old story’ is discovered.

These narratives of blackness as inferior have not went away. I don’t know if I’ll be alive to see it go away either.

But black joy is always a dig at white superiority. Why are they so happy? They don’t deserve to be this happy. The need for white people to control black people still exists. Exerting control over someone means you believe yourself to be their superior.

Microagressions at me speaking aave, rapping, using the n-word in front of white friends shocked me at first then I remembered who i was to them. What my skin, my hair, what it all meant to them and I stopped being surprised. 

Well that’s just my take on it. Black people share and discuss. Sorry if I rambled. 

‘Why do white people dismiss black joy?’ 

AN OPEN LETTER TO WHITE AMERICA (PT 1)

They will take your religion
they will take your spirit
and they will take your bodies for labor.
but you will die and come back
a thousand times;
and you shall overcome

Dear White America,

you will never know the rage in my heart
or why my fingertips curl inside my palms
when i see one of my people’s names
turned into a hashtag

I try to raise my fist upward instead of forward

you will never know what
its like to give into the hate
and see yourself as a sin
because your skin mimics the night sky

it’s clear why i never really learned that melanin absorbs sunlight in grade school.

you will never know what it feels like to have
your mental illness invalidated
to be told that you can’t have depression
that black girls don’t develop depression
cause our Mammy genes are
too strong
or that the cutting is meaningless
because if you choose a different spot each time
your scars will just match your skin tone

you will never know what it’s like
to be afraid of the world
and to live in a place whose slogan is a juxtaposition
Land of the Free who took like
everything was free
and Home of the Brave who used guns and
germs to kill…

welcome to white privilege

where my hips are too wide
my chest has too much black pride
my lips are too big and my hair is the devils cotton

‘your men don’t support you
and now it’s your turn to pay
for the crimes we committed against the
world. your resilience will cause us to incite violence on your womb.
We will be watching, and we will be waiting
for each and every one of you.
You are not free
and your bravery will bring about
your death.’

Dear White America,
you will never know what it means
to be black
to be told you are dirty
to be spat on
bullied
abandoned
isolated
insecure
ridiculed
fearful
and dead
because of your skin color.

They will take our religion
they will take our spirits
and they will continue to take out bodies for labor
and this time, we will be unconscious to it all.
but when we die, we will come back a thousand times
and we shall overcome.

Dear White America, 

this is only part one. 

I am going to stop altering how I smile in the mirror and photos and just start smiling naturally. I’m self conscious of my mouth and eyes in particular. I think my lips and eyes are too big sometimes, and sometimes I’ll narrow them when taking selfies. From now on I am no longer modifying my face for my selfies. I think smiling in a way I think would make myself look photogenic is an misrepresentation of me, because it’s not the way people see me all the time. You never really see the faces you make when you interact with others, because there isn’t a mirror there. Only when we take selfies and look at ourselves in the mirror do we try to modify our appearance.

I thought I would share a little story to this selfie. 

When I was younger, about 12 or 13, I was always insecure. About everything. I didn’t know how to apply makeup, talk to boys, or how to pretty much be a girl. In my eyes, all my friends were prettier than me, and all the other girls I went to school with were like, borderline drop dead gorgeous. Puberty did nothing for me besides give me awkward hair growth and the monthly “gift” from Mother Nature. My hair was shit, I thought my nose and my lips were too big, I had the occasional “omg I’m so fat my belly looks like whale blubber” whine. I was a mess. My self confidence was bad enough because I was in an emotionally abusive relationship at that time (he wanted me to look and act a certain way, it’s a long story), and how my mother felt weird being around me in public because of what I wore (I was going through my emo/scene phase so you can imagine my choice in apparel). I was the way I was because I literally hated my skin color. I just flat out hated myself. I was one of those self-loathing black girls who wished they were lighter so someone would love them. I would take phrases like “you’re like, a white girl in black skin”, “you’re so pretty for a black girl”, “HA! you’re super cool for a black chick” as compliments because I saw nothing wrong with it. I was someone I wasn’t. Everyday after school I would be on MySpace look at all the pretty scene queens and sitemodels (I was a sitemodel ok don’t judge me I had a separate MySpace for it and everything) who were white and wished that I were popular like them and that I literally were them. It had gotten to the point where I wanted to bleach my skin, but I decided against it. 

I joined Tumblr on January 16, 2010 because one of my all time favorite scene queens (Brookelle ‘Bones’ McKenzie if you were wondering) had a blog that was hella rad and I wanted to follow it. My first URL was fakerthanbarbie, and I would post a whole bunch of random shit (if you go through my archive from 2010, you can see my first post was me whining about my best friend not liking me back). Throughout time I saw a whole bunch of pretty “tumblr famous” people getting all these notes and compliments about their looks, and oh, how ironic- they were all white. All I wanted to be when I was younger was wanted and loved. And all for the wrong reasons. I wanted to be liked because I was “better” than most in a sense- that I wasn’t the typical black girl who was ratchet and ghetto, the typical black girl that everyone hated. That sounds horrible to say now but that’s how I felt back then. I wanted to be liked by everyone aka the pretty white scene girls. Jealousy truly is a sickness. 

You’re probably wondering why any of that is relevant to the picture. I’m making this known now because throughout the five years that I’ve been on this website, I’ve learned a lot. Not only about social issues, but about myself. By late 2013, early 2014, I realized how immature and irrational I looked and sounded, letting others define me by what they thought was alright. I realized that I am me, and I’m the best me that I will ever be. I was unhappy for the features that God had blessed me with, and I favored features that were unobtainable. I wanted fair skin, because that was, and still is, acceptable. Being my skin color, apparently, isn’t acceptable in this society. My skin color is seen as dirt, burnt, a pile of shit. I cried any chance I could because of what I looked like. I couldn’t stand looking in a mirror. I was ashamed of everything, and wanted out. I was convinced nobody would love me because of how my skin color resembled something disgusting.

But not anymore. It’s 2015, and I’m so proud to say that I’m finally happy in the skin I’m in. I can finally say that I’m black and I’m fucking proud, fuck you if you think otherwise. I’m not insecure anymore. I don’t want to drown myself in a bathtub of bleach anymore. I don’t want to trick myself into thinking that fairer skin is better skin. I don’t care anymore. I love myself now. I love my hair (real and fake), my nose, my lips, my everything. I regret ever thinking otherwise. It took a loooooooong time for me to feel this way, and I want to personally thank everyone on Tumblr. For it was this site that helped me gain confidence. Tumblr is just one big roller coaster of emotions, and I know it sounds weird say that the same website that obsessed over the IKEA monkey is the same website that made me feel better about myself. But it’s true. The more people I followed, the more ways I saw closure and happiness. It’s amazing how talking to a complete stranger can ease so much pain. I saw a different side of tumblr, where people would submit their photos to a blog that was a self-love type of page- showcasing the beauty in people’s faces. I was obsessed. Last year, I saw this blog (I forgot the name of it) that was dedicated to black women, and I saw so many post about young girl’s struggle to finding who they are and accepting the fact that black is beautiful, it truly is. Every shade is beautiful, and I want everyone to know it now. When I saw nothing but white girls on my computer screen, boy did I wish I was them. I wanted to be them just for their skin color. Now, when I see black women of all shapes, shades, and sizes, I get so happy. This picture represents how I don’t let my skin color define me. I used to never wear bright colors, now here I am in a coral crop top. I’m dark, not dirt, burnt, or a pile of shit.

If I can preach one thing over and over again for the rest of my life, it’ll be to never let yourself become less of who you truly are. Be happy with your body, your skin, every little imperfection there is. Don’t let your skin color define who you truly are. You can achieve anything you want in the world, don’t let anything  I know it’ll take a long time for you to realize that, but believe me, it’s all worth it in the end. This goes out to all my black women who are insecure, who are degrading themselves emotionally, who are looking for a reason to be happy with their skin: this is it. This will be you one day. You will be happy, I promise. It may not be now, it may not be tomorrow, it may not be next week, it may not be next year. But it will happen.

I wanted to save this until the next #Blackout but I felt the need to post it now. Nothing wrong with a little backstory/confidence boost, is there? 

Sad that most of my childhood I felt ugly and wanted to get rid of my curls and wished I had the ‘pretty straight hair’ TV always advertised. I wanted to be like the pretty white girls that made fun of me because I was too hairy, my hair was frizzy and my lips were 'too big’. I am afro-latinx and proud, my curls, hair, skin and lips make me who I am and nobody will be able to take that away. @thisisnotlatinx