i’m very tired of explaining myself to people i love–– people who give way more than i deserve for what i throw back.

identity politics is a real, real thing. why does a cross have to be burning in my front lawn for it to be considered anti-black? because it doesn’t, because racism comes in all different forms, and frankly, the covert-gastlighty shit is incredibly draining to explain.

because it makes so much sense, to you, to random black strangers online, to the good sis google— to anyone, they get it.
but not the people i love.

or showtime

an HBO show where the last scene on the season finale is a person opening their deodorant and having it crumble all over their carpet, completely missing the passably floor beside it, tand then said-person completely breaking down while “what's my age again” by blink-182 plays in the background as the show cuts to the credits



7 days a week usually after 12PM EST