iNKWELL

She and her fiance have been together for seven years. But they’ve been friends since they were 14. Two weeks ago, the couple was offered this great opportunity to have a destination wedding in Puerto Rico for a TV show. However, as the date approaches, things are getting really hectic, and funds are getting exceptionally tight.

Currently, they have a fundraising goal to reach, but they need everyone’s help.

I know things are tight. Trust me, I know. But if you can’t give, That’s okay! But do me a favor and please reblog so others may and send the word along.

I appreciate your help.

Donate Here!

J

we were not meant to be plucked
or blown for wishes
we were not mean to be centerpieces

we were not meant to match garlands
or to be tucked under your noses
we were not meant to be plucked

there were no directions given on our existence
unfortunately
we have only been told to be pretty
and kind
to smell good
and grow as the grass grows
dip when shoved by the tangible invisibility of the wind
but never allowed to speak

we were not meant to be plucked
uprooted
even petals give character
but never meant to be pulled from our heads
in a lesser fashion
our bloom was not mean to be limited

our bloom is quite the opposite
it is a shrieking kind of thing
screaming “freedom” and “black noise”
out of our follicles
the beauty in being a flower is
no one knows you’ve weathered any kind of storm
until you’ve been plucked from your roots
your petals, snatched from your scalp
your thorns
bent and flicked off of your skin
your defenses
completely taken away
sitting in a glass of water
and told, “you are beautiful”
as you die 

No, You may not touch my hair.

No, You may not stare at me across a crowded (or empty) room.

No, Your hair will not look like this if you get one of those white people perms.

No, You may not smell my hair.

No, You may not ask if I wash it.

No, You are not allowed to get offended when I tell you, “no”

No, You may not negotiate. I know what white skin feels like. I prefer not to barter skin fondling for your research on whether my hair feels like cheetos

No, You may not ask me to, “shake my dreads”

No, You may not call my hair “dreads” there is noting “dread-ful” about my hair, just the fact that you keep trying to make a spectacle of me

No, You may not take pictures of my hair

No, I don’t want to hear about how you have two black friends whose hair looks like mine

No, I don’t look like Jill Scott, Queen Latifah, Raven Symone, Lauryn Hill, or Erykah Badu. Just because they are black, does not mean we all have the same set of parents or genetic traits 

No, You may not dance in my presence and think I’ll join in

No, I will not sing for you, even if I have some moderate ability

No, I will not take you to “the hood” and be your security guard

No, You may not pretend to know what it is like to be a POC in any realm. You don’t not have a struggle…Occupy Wall Street does not count. Being unemployed is new for your people.

No, You may not debate with me on any of these. I have little care for your response.

why don’t black men think black women are beautiful anymore? what happened? are we less beautiful? why is it that, when we wear weaves down to our backs or suctioned to the front of our heads, we get the utmost attention? all the “ayyo mamis” come out of the woodwork. However, when the natural puffs are worn, or the locks are let down, we don’t get the same attention? I’ve seen it! With my own two eyes, i’ve seen the disdain black mens faces show when they see a woman with natural hair. Why? What happened? What made us less beautiful to you? We still think you’re just as handsome as ever. Locks down your back or a fresh cut; we love you either way.

but, i guess black men don’t feel the same. They would rather have us lock our hair in solitary confinement or succumb to scorching heat in order to “fit in”. or even worse, melting our hair, skin, and identity with the help of painful burning chemicals…

And it’s hurtful, and a damned hard pill to swallow, but we have to be true to who WE are. we have to love US for US, even if you don’t love us. It’s okay…

white guys love us.