love characterization where black women get to be spoiled sweet. Their
aesthetic gets to be soft, gentle, and sweet. They have these big full smiles and dark
eyes giving off a warm glimmer in the sunshine. They paint their nails green with little white dots
because they think it’s cute. Their phone case is pink and has little rhinestones on the back: they won’t settle for something that instead seems sturdy and durable because it doesn’t come with a cute design. They’re twenty-one but their bedroom looks
unchanged from when they were teenagers: it looks like this could be their teenage bedroom. They’re
full of boundless love and fun because they’re young and they love to be
love characterization where black women get to be poison. They have a swish in their hips, heels click on the floor and it sounds like power to her. They wear the
finest clothes: fur-coats, designer dresses, necklaces and earrings of all varieties and lengths. Moving red lips match the color of the nail tracing against your skin as they talk about sweet nothings. And maybe they do love you, but their own agenda
comes first and foremost. This sort of woman has characteristics that goes beyond her beauty. Her sex. They’re
sharp as tacks and always ahead in their game. They’re leading the game.
I love characterization where black girls aren’t either of
these things. They’re so awkward that they practice
what they say in the mirror because they can’t think or get nervous otherwise. They’re off in their own little world – wishing they were somewhere else, anywhere else but here. They work
better in small groups than large ones. They have passion for particular things they’re, unfortunately, under-represented in and can even be fun among
the small group they love to call their friends. They’re nerdy and geeky as
fuck. The wallflower - the tongue-tied black girl is super important.
Sunshine splits open our eyeballs like a hammer and a pair of nails. Sunshine is infecting us, seeping in through our optic nerves and perverting our brains with its optimism-inspiring influences.
When I grow up, I’m going to live in a chocolate castle on the moon. I’ll have a bunch of servants and I’ll pay them all well and they’ll all think I’m really cool and like working for me is a pretty sweet gig.
When I go to bed, I’m going to take you with me, like a couple of doomed suicidal test-pilots going down together in a flaming heap of wreckage. I’ll wrap you up in blankets and a kiss that takes all weekend to finish off. We’ll be soggy when we’re done, we’ll have to pour ourselves into the shower just to hose off all the spit and sweat. But in a nice way.
Darkness is swallowing up my room, inch by inch as the night creeps in over the horizon. Darkness is going to gobble us all up, spinning little electrons and all, and then it really will be time for bed, but not that silly, sexy bed we like to giggle about. Then it will be time for sleep.
But now is not yet that time. There’s still a battle to be fought and pie to be eaten and one more secret to be told.