THE FAWN THAT MADE VARSITY

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Black College Student Reported Missing after Uber ride

The family of a missing Georgia State University college student is asking for the public’s help in finding her.

Photos of 21-year-old Monique Priester were posted on Instagram, and fliers are circulating around the Georgia State campus in hopes of locating her.

Due to the increase of hate crimes today, we need to spread this information, because there might be a chance to save someone!

[blvckkween-deactivated20160515]

This is a student at my school! Help find Monique Priester!!

[mrsmeadows]

“Lemonade” poetry bits

Intuition

I tried to make a home outta you. But doors lead to trapdoors. A stairway leads to nothing. Unknown women wander the hallways at night. Where do you go when you go quiet? You remind me of my father, a magician. Able to exist in two places at once. In the tradition of men in my blood you come home at 3AM and lie to me. What are you hiding? The past, and the future merge to meet us here. What luck. What a fucking curse.

Denial

I tried to change. Closed my mouth more. Tried to be soft, prettier. Less…awake.

Fasted for 60 days. Wore white. Abstained from mirrors. Abstained from sex. Slowly did not speak another word.

In that time my hair grew past my ankles. I slept on a mat on the floor. I swallowed a sword. I levitated… into the basement, I confessed my sins and was baptized in a river. Got on my knees and said, “Amen.” And said I mean. I whipped my own back and asked for dominion at your feet. I threw myself into a volcano. I drank the blood and drank the wine. I sat alone and begged and bent at the waist for God. I crossed myself and thought… I saw the devil. I grew thickened skin on my feet. I bathed…in bleach and plugged my menses with pages from the Holy Book. But still inside me coiled deep was the need to know. Are you cheating? Are you cheating on me?

Anger

If this what you truly want. I can wear her skin…over mine. Her hair, over mine. Her hands as gloves. Her teeth as confetti. Her scalp, a cap. Her sternum, my bedazzled cane. We can pose for a photograph. All three of us, immortalized. You and your perfect girl.

I don’t know when love became elusive. What I know is no one I know has it. My father’s arms around my mother’s neck. Fruit too ripe to eat.

I think of lovers as trees… …growing to and from one another. Searching for the same light. Why can’t you see me? Why can’t you see me? (Why can’t you) Why can’t you see me? Everyone else can.

Apathy

So what are you gonna say at my funeral now that you’ve killed me? Here lies the body of the love of my life, whose heart I broke without a gun to my head. Here lies the mother of my children both living and dead. Rest in peace, my true love, who I took for granted, most bomb pussy, who because of me, sleep evaded. Her shroud is loneliness. Her God was listening. Her heaven would be a love without betrayal. Ashes to ashes…dust to side chicks.

Emptiness

She sleeps all day…dreams of you in both worlds.

Tills the blood in and out of uterus. Wakes up smelling of zinc. Grief, sedated by orgasm. Orgasm heightened by grief. God was in the room when the man said to the woman, “I love you so much. Wrap your legs around me and pull me in, pull me in, pull me in.” Sometimes when he’d have her nipple in his mouth, she’d whisper, “Oh my God.” That, too, is a form of worship. Her hips grind pestle and mortar, cinnamon and cloves, whenever he pulls out.

Loss. Dear moon, we blame you for floods…for the flush of blood…for men who are also wolves. We blame you for the night, for the dark, for the ghosts.

Every fear… Every nightmare…anyone has ever had.

Accountability

You find the black tube inside her beauty case. Where she keeps your father’s old prison letters. You desperately want to look like her. You look nothing like your mother. You look everything like your mother. Film star, beauty. How to wear your mother’s lipstick. You go to the bathroom to apply the lipstick. Somewhere no one can find you. You must wear it like she wears disappointment on her face. Your mother is a woman. And women like her can not be contained.

Mother dearest, let me inherit the Earth. Teach me how to make him beg. Let me make up for the years he made you wait. Did he bend your reflection? Did he make you forget your own name? Did he convince you he was a God? Did you get on your knees daily? Do his eyes close like doors? Are you a slave to the back of his head? Am I talking about your husband or your father?

Reformation

He bathes me… …until I forget their names…and faces. I ask him to look me in the eye when I come…home. Why do you deny yourself heaven? Why do you consider yourself undeserving? Why are you afraid of love? You think it’s not possible for someone like you. But you are the love of my life…love of my life…the love of my life…the love of my life.

Forgiveness

Baptize me… …now that reconciliation is possible. If we’re gonna heal, let it be glorious. One thousand girls raise their arms.

Do you remember being born?

Are you thankful? Are the hips that cracked… …the deep velvet of your mother… …and her mother… …and her mother? There is a curse that will be broken.

Resurrection

You are terrifying… …and strange… …and beautiful.

Hope

The nail technician pushes my cuticles back… …turns my hand over, stretches the skin on my palm and says: “I see your daughters, and their daughters.” That night in a dream the first girl emerges from a slit in my stomach. The scar heals into a smile. The man I love pulls the stitches out with his fingernails. We leave black sutures curling on the side of the bath. I wake as the second girl crawls headfirst up my throat. A flower blossoming out of the hole in my face.

Redemption

Take one pint of water, add a half pound of sugar, the juice of eight lemons… …the zest of half lemon. Pour the water from one jug, then into the other, several times. Strain through a clean napkin.

Grandmother, the alchemist. You spun gold out of this hard life. Conjured beauty from the things left behind. Found healing where it did not live. Discovered the antidote in your own kitchen. Broke the curse with your own two hands. You passed these instructions down to your daughter. Who then passed it down to her daughter.

My grandma said, nothing real can be threatened. True love brought salvation back into me. With every tear came redemption. And my torturer became my remedy.

So we’re gonna heal, we’re gonna start again. You’ve brought the orchestra. Synchronized swimmers, you are the magician. Pull me back together again the way you cut me in half. Make the woman in doubt disappear. Pull the sorrow from between my legs like silk, knot after knot after knot. The audience applauds… …but we can’t hear them.

Warsan Shire

[aurelhaize]

beautiful

[fallenoutoffashion]

Karl Lagerfeld 1991

[continentcreative]

Kiki Berhe for Material Girl Magazine by Lucie Hugary

[3615talife]

le baiser du faune

[uzlolzu-deactivated20181203]

I wanted to draw Saffran’s father, so I did.

Nénuro is mine.

[blackourstory]

EVERYTHING Has A History

Any discussion of COLORISM that leaves out the historical context of WHITE SUPREMACY lets white people off the hook for THEIR racial obsessions, results in us blaming our fellow Black victims for the crimes of our oppressors and, ultimately, will fail to lead toward the BLACK UNITY necessary for our psychic liberation from said COLORISM.

[souljahseh]

this is disgusting

[hellyeahblackmodels]

Tom Ford S/S 2016 | Lady Gaga - I Want Your Love(x)

[serena-jara]

GIRL I AM SOOO!!!!

aurelhaize by lea colombo <3___<3

[rat-fag]

just fuck me up

[aurelhaize]

hiiii

[designerleather]

[corporateslut]

trinity

[freerenata-deactivated20180915]

Wow

[aurelhaize]

I actually can’t

[sssleepallnight]

[sssleepallday]

Sarah Sitkin

[rhade-zapan]

Illustration by Paul Lehr

[More Paul Lehr | Illustrations on Rhade-Zapan]

[brainiak-on-coco]

[mariahraemonroe]

Life

[sekigan]

村田 蓮爾 Range Murata

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[steviemcfly]

“When did slavery end in America?”

If you ask a white teenager, you might get the answer, “Four hundred years ago.” But that’s not the answer. Four hundred years ago was 1615, when the Jamestown colony had only existed for eight years and chattel slavery was just beginning.

Others might say, “When Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, of course.” But that’s not right either. That only freed slaves in Confederate territory seized by the Union. The Union slave states—Missouri, Kentucky, Maryland, Delaware, and the then-in-formation West Virginia—were exempt and allowed to keep their slaves, along with Tennessee, which had more or less been returned to the Union, and Union-loyal areas of Louisiana (including New Orleans) and coastal Virginia. Because it was unenforceable in most of the Confederate states, only about 1-2% of slaves were freed by the Emancipation Proclamation.

“Well, then,” they might say, “it was definitely when the Thirteenth Amendment was passed.” And still, they would be wrong. While that pivotal law did free the vast majority of America’s slaves, the text of the law is this: “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.“

So when did slavery end in America? The answer is, “Never.”

As discussed in the PBS documentary Slavery By Another Name (available in full by clicking the link), as the federal government withdrew funding and support for Reconstruction, the South began a system of leasing prisoners—allowed by law to be used as slaves—to the plantations to replace their free labor. Those affected by this system were treated even worse than those held in bondage under slavery before the Civil War, as slaves were an expensive investment—the $800 average cost of a slave in 1860 is roughly $21,000 in today’s dollars—but leased prisoners were replaced by the prison if killed and payment continued as scheduled, deincentivizing what little humane treatment was afforded slaves.

It was so profitable and in such high demand that, within ten years of its implementation, the stereotype of black people in America had changed. Prior to the Civil War, the stereotype of black people was that we were inherently docile, servile, and loyal. This only makes sense, because if we were viewed as inherently violent and thieving and criminal like we are today, why would they have trusted us with their livelihoods, their crops, and their children? (Side note: this is also where the stereotype of black people loving watermelon came from—the idea that if we were just given a cool slice of watermelon on a hot day, we would work forever). But once they were no longer allowed to own us outright and had to lease us from prisons, police and judges did everything in their power to make sure they had a robust source of free labor. Black people were arrested on false or trumped-up charges, and within ten years, the recorded arrest and conviction rate for black people had skyrocketed so much that the stereotype was entirely inverted from what it had been previously.

The prison system may have stopped leasing prisoners to plantations, but they still lease prison labor to corporations and local governments. Prisoners—primarily black, of course, because we are targeted—are forced to fight wildfires, manufacture consumer goods, and even make goat cheese for Whole Foods. Our economy was built on slave labor, and it still runs on it to a disconcerting extent. And to make that work, black and Latino neighborhoods are targeted by law enforcement and manipulated through things like school closings and schools being unfathomably underfunded to ensure an ever-growing population of prisoners, an ever-growing population of slaves.

So the next time someone asks you when slavery ended in America, tell them the truth. Tell them, “Never.”

[dimmadarn]