Post with 1 note
I’ll make my home
My place will be in yours,
as I approach
this new space that
in a few occasions
I’ll make your place,
my safe space,
you’ll let me in
as I start to stay.
You’ll let me in,
You’ll let me stay,
we will make it seem,
like it’s all okay.
Y con la noche,
me despido de mí
y de todos vosotros,
los que de paso
os habéis convertido
en los fantasmas de los que
The Trouble Between Us: An Uneasy History of White and Black Women in the Feminist Movement
Segregated Sisterhood: Racism Politics American Feminism
Black Sexual Politics: African Americans, Gender, and the New Racism
Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment
Ain’t I a Woman: Black Women and Feminism
Feminism Is For Everybody: Passionate Politics
The Womanist Reader: The First Quarter Century of Womanist Thought
Black Feminist Voices in Politics
Living for the Revolution: Black Feminist Organizations, 1968–1980Reblogging for future referenceIf you’re a white feminist and you place WoC, particularly Black women/feminists/womanists, and their struggles, narratives and activism on the periphery of the women’s liberation movement, or you belittle them as “special interest issues”, and you place white/Western women/feminists at the center of- and as the authority of the women’s liberation movement, then congrats. You really are a white/ Western “feminist”.
Post with 1 note
I’ve been out of practice… I haven’t been writing… and that means I haven’t been healing or progressing much in what I need to do. Tomorrow it’s a different day.
Maybe this whole extroverted thing, this whole need to be surrounded by people and full of things to do with goals that seem completely abstract like that of becoming a better activist, a better learner, a more complete and admirable human being, a feminist. But then also the best friend, partner, mother, daughter, woman, ally, lover. All of these things I want to be, all of these things that are important to me, without sitting down and strategizing, or just letting my brain stop and roll around in its destructive thoughts so that by the end of the day I learn something new about myself, something I might not like but I will take it and have it be there, present, forever. And then I see what I do with it, but first I need to know.
And for that, I need to heal and progress. Write.
I doubt despise dislike myself,
and I could even say
that it’s hate, or som’ else
when I think of my dreams,
and the reality in me.
But I don’t doubt myself
like I don’t know.
Like I would like to know
but I don’t know
I don’t doubt
that I can sing
I don’t doubt
that I can write
that I can’t let the moon leave
and then it leaves
and I die.
"There’s a story I could tell when the cold wind starts to blow
Like a whisper in the night from a friend that you know
It says, “Keep holding on to my body below
Forsake me not, don’t ever leave me alone”
There was a time when the sun gave its life to the trees
And the air it smelled sweeter for the honey and the bees
The ocean rolled salty and wild and free
The fruit swelled and ripened and burst with their seeds
But what starts with desire can turn into need
The chest gets all tight like it’s got some disease
What burns in the fire just ends up as coals
What floats on the water can sink like a stone
Now I want to believe every word that you say
I want you to need me to not go away
Have trust in the nighttime and faith in the day
To walk on the water, be never afraid
Can you bear it upon you? My love has gone under
Above all the stars have forgotten to glow
But if you keep holding on to my body below you
I’ll warm you and keep you from feeling alone”
Okay, we didn’t work, and all memories to tell you the truth aren’t good. But sometimes there were good times. Love was good. I loved your crooked sleep beside me and never dreamed afraid.
There should be stars for great wars like ours.
portland, or. february 2014.
Page 1 of 184