What’s it like to work alongside so many other women of color?
yaaaaas uzo, girl.
If someday the moon calls you by your name don’t be surprised,
Because every night I tell her about you.
Shahrazad al-Khalij (via oceanghosts)
Sometimes it just flashes into my brain. Each moment. Every fear.
After years of pushing it deep into the depth of my waters, it runs up my spine and pops out of the surface, high into the air landing a couple inches beside me.
I try to reach for it and the water rippling out of my body pushes it further away.
Then I remember the first time.
I remember his hands on my zipper. In my underwear. A group laughs like it is a joke. Turn on the light to see the red hairs peeking out of my open jeans. My new friend watches as fear floods through my body. I try to say stop and know this can not be the effect of a few beers. Words will not escape my mouth. My limp body unable to fight. She watches, he touches.
I am broken. Beautiful, strong and vibrant. Loving and generous. Scared.
I pretend like it never happened. Who would want to know something so cruel. I didn’t.
11 years and once again it is here by my side accompanied by the others. Every time, each person, so different.
I am utterly tired of remembering that I am a survivor. Grab it. I try to forget and push it back between my thighs, which I have grown thick and sturdy through the years, hoping I will never lose control of it again.