Today felt filled with lament and mourning — mourning the loss of all the social progress that has been made for anyone who isn’t a white, heterosexual male in the top 1 percent of the economy.
“Your hair is ugly;” “You look like Medusa;” and “Why is your hair like that?” became my normal. I felt as if the things they were saying were accurate. My hair became the punchline.
When her boyfriend breaks up with her for a girl easily defined as a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, Beatrice reinvents herself as Trixie Giovanni, a sunflower-loving, French-speaking, bubbly young girl with an affinity for mismatched shoes in order to win him back.
Schumer and Dunham’s version of feminism likely would have gone unquestioned against its old definition, but today, representing the voices of your lookalikes and bashing all other women should not and cannot be tolerated.
I am girl/and girl does not mean/“Sexualize me”/“Pry me apart”/“Look me up and down.”
Lacquered acrylics fix beneath silk/Constricting around cranium/
Sustaining the days’ style, for the morning/I lay my head upon my pillow
Resting my eyes/And putting to sleep all of my worries that lay beneath my hair.
White child, are you afraid of me? With skin black and teeth gleaming/I pray that you outgrow your fear of the dark/It is best for us both
You are an artist, a scientist, a visionary/All of this just happens to come in many shades and colors.
In order to change the world or people you must empower their minds to speak through their creative mind. When I leave this earth my ideas and dreams will echo for eternity.
In today’s society, I feel like I should hate my race. / I should flat out bleach my skin white, turn my hair blonde, get blue contacts and change my name to Amy.