Dear John letter to my Instagram followers. ( for the fukn trouble makers this is not individual specific - actually, it’s to you).
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American mainstream is obsessed with black creative genius - be it music, walk, style - but at the same time puts a low priority on the black social misery which is the very context out of which that creativity flows.
the year of letting go
of understanding loss, grace of the word ‘no’
and also being able to say ‘you are not kind’
the year of humanity/humility
when the whole world couldn’t get out of bed
everyone i’ve met this year says the same thing
‘you are so easy to be around, how do you do that?’
the year i broke open and dug out all the rot with own hands
the year i learnt small talk
and how to smile at strangers
the year i understood that i am my best when i reach out and ask ‘do you want to be my friend?’
the year of sugar, everywhere
softness. sweetness. honey honey.
the year of being alone
and learning how much i like it
the year of hugging people i don’t know because i want to know them
the year i made peace and love
Rape culture isn’t an amorphous force that lives outside of people. It takes form and perpetuates itself through our actions. We promote rape culture through the smallest gestures–laughter at a rape joke, objectifying “compliments,” our hesitation to call out a friend, our willingness to make excuses for the known rapists in our midst, our paralysis in the face of complex systemic cruelty, our silence–and these seemingly inconsequential moments build a world where 15-year-olds are gang-raped by classmates. We build a world where it is no longer shocking when victims of sexual assault and harassment commit suicide.
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