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(Source: keithmajorphoto, via bookishboi)

(Source: keziafener, via momojax)

"We let Willow cut her hair. When you have a little girl, it’s like how can you teach her that you’re in control of her body? If I teach her that I’m in charge of whether or not she can touch her hair, she’s going to replace me with some other man when she goes out in the world. She can’t cut my hair but that’s her hair. She has got to have command of her body. So when she goes out into the world, she’s going out with a command that it is hers. She is used to making those decisions herself. We try to keep giving them those decisions until they can hold the full weight of their lives."

(On why he let Willow cut all of her hair off)

Read more: Will Smith On Allowing Willow To Cut Her Hair: ‘She Has Got To Have Command Of Her Body’ | Necole Bitchie.com

- He raises a really great point. What would it mean to believe very early that my body was mine. That it’s not for anyone or for any particular purpose other than to be mine until I decide otherwise.

(via larepublicadedet)

I was damned near 30 before I could believe my body belonged to me & me alone. Dear people who take an issue with this,

Let the Smiths do right by their babies & shut the fuck up about how you think they should parent.

(via karnythia)

Lot of love for Will Smith right now.

(via inflateablefilth)

I wish my parents realized that when I was growing up.

(via historicalslut)

This. Stop calling this little girl fresh or grown. When I was 10, I cut all my hair off. At 14, after it had all grown back, I did it again. It didn’t change who I was or make me grown up. The Black community as a whole puts to much emphasis on hair - I actually almost was beat up for cutting my hair off under the logic that so many girls wanted hair like mine and I go and cut mine of…um…my hair. my body. my business.

(via justannadagirl)

(via strugglingtobeheard)

Critical Race Theorist: Y'all gotta read this poem. →

ninasafiri:

Göttin der Dummheit: Two Women

arielnietzsche:

I am a woman.
I am a woman.

I am a woman born of a woman whose man owned a factory.
I am a woman born of a woman whose man labored in a factory.

I am a woman whose man wore silk suits, who constantly watched his weight.
I am a woman whose man wore tattered clothing, whose heart was constantly strangled by hunger.

I am a woman who watched two babies grow into beautiful children.
I am a woman who watched two babies die because there was no milk.

I am a woman who watched twins grow into popular college students with summers abroad.
I am a woman who watched three children grow, but with bellies stretched from no food.

But then there was a man;
But then there was a man;

And he talked about the peasants getting richer by my family getting poorer.
And he told me of days that would be better and he made the days better.

We had to eat rice.
We had rice.

We had to eat beans!
We had beans.

My children were no longer given summer visas to Europe.
My children no longer cried themselves to sleep.

And I felt like a peasant.
And I felt like a woman.

A peasant with a dull, hard, unexciting life.
Like a woman with a life that sometimes allowed a song.

And I saw a man.
And I saw a man.

And together we began to plot with the hope of the return to freedom.
I saw his heart begin to beat with hope of freedom, at last.

Someday, the return to freedom.
Someday freedom.

And then,
But then,

One day,
One day,

There were plans overhead and guns firing close by.
There were planes overhead and guns firing in the distance.

I gathered my children and went home.
I gathered my children and ran.

And the guns moved farther and farther away.
But the guns moved closer and closer.

And then, they announced that freedom had been restored!
And then they came, young boys really.

They came into my home along with my man.
They came and found my man.

Those men whose money was almost gone.
They found all of the men whose lives were almost their own.

And we all had drinks to celebrate.
And they shot them all.

The most wonderful martinis.
They shot my man.

And then they asked us to dance.
And they came for me.

Me.
For me, the woman.

And my sisters.
For my sisters.

And then they took us.
Then they took us.

They took us to dinner at a small private club.
They stripped from us the dignity we had gained.

And they treated us to beef.
And then they raped us.

It was one course after another.
One after another they came after us.

We nearly burst we were so full.
Lunging, plunging—sisters bleeding, sisters dying.

It was magnificent to be free again!
It was hardly a relief to have survived.

The beans have almost disappeared now.
The beans have disappeared.

The rice—I’ve replaced it with chicken or steak.
The rice, I cannot find it.

And the parties continue night after night to make up for all the time wasted.
And my silent tears are joined once more by the midnight cries of my children.

This poem was written by a working class Chilean woman in 1973, shortly after Chile’s socialist president, Salvador Allende, was overthrown. A U.S. missionary translated the work and brought it with her when she was forced to leave Chile. This is to be read by two people, one reading the bold-faced type and one reading the regular type.

The period of rice and beans for the poor woman in the poem occurs after the election of the socialist, Salvador Allende, as president of Chile. Allende was elected in 1970. He was overthrown in a military coup in September 1973 after a long period of destabilization launched by the wealthy classes and supported by the US government and US corporations such as International Telephone and Telegraph. Along with thousands of others, Allende was killed by the military. The coup, under the leadership of Gen. Augusto Pinochet, launched a period of severe hardship for the working and peasant classes. Although Chile currently has a civilian government, the military is still the country’s most powerful institution.

(Source: regrettoinform.org, via strugglingtobeheard)

the end is near.

i love my students with all of my heart, i do. still, i wouldn’t be too upset if it was june 8th.

"People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered; forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives: Be kind anyway. What you spend years creating others could destroy overnight: Create anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway. Give the best you have, and it may never be enough: Give your best anyway. In the final analysis, it is between you and God: it was never between you and them anyway."

Mother Teresa

(Source: mail.google.com, via momojax)

Sometimes people push you away because they love you, not because they don’t love you

queerbrownxx:

And they’re actually doing an extremely unselfish thing, because they know that you’ll be better off without them holding onto you, at least for a while.

thedeeface:

mickyalexandria:

cannibaljackrabbit:

youngbrokeandfameless:

cannibaljackrabbit:

stannisfuckingbaratheon:

cannibaljackrabbit:

It figures that I would be reading a book called “Gender Diversity” in the middle of dealing with gender identity things. 

I’ve got a test Tuesday, so I’m doing my best to pack as much of this stuff into my brain as possible. Let’s hope this water keeps me awake because I don’t drink coffee. 

oh man, shorthaired girls ftw

I’m not a girl, but thank you. I like my hair short too.

I don’t get why she licks the bottle. Is that supposed to be sexy or something?

I think I just mentioned I’m not a girl, so that means I don’t like to be “she”d. And I lick the bottle because water was dripping out of it. Not sure why that needed an explanation. 

I think they look very sexy :)

So very attractive.

"You are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing."

E.E. Cummings (via daedalsouls)

(via blackintellect)

eclecticallyjai:

Beautiful. No other words to describe it.