Being black isn’t a costume, we have certain terms you would never understand. For instance, I can drop receipts and without a word, we watch in collective wait to see which white women show their true colors. Master’s wife.
They wear our acrylic nails.
Our hoop earrings.
Our gold chains.
Our hairstyles.
Our lingo.
Our bodies.
Our lips.
They devour our culture.
But when they see a black woman “getting out of place” (you should be lesser and are tolerated if you are in power) they show their true colors. Master’s wife, wear a headscarf while you do chores, it’s that foreign hair that’s seducing him to rape you. The same women who voted for Trump. The same women who say the N word and if they could, get rid of you, because they are conditioned until they aren’t. The same women shocked by what they just read, because they didn’t know I gave them enough rope to hang themselves, not me. We take notes, because we are conditioned to categorize which white women are dangerous. Performative Karen’s, the type of women who pull Emmett Till type lies. You think we don’t notice, but we do. You have black friends. You want to be us, because you can’t you try to bend us, or breaks us, but you ain’t black. Noted. I unfollowed one model influencer who I thought was woke, after she subbed that I should move on from being racially trolled, instead of taking the time to address her friends.
To the black women engaging with these type’s of people, the difference between you and me is I know my divinity. Stop letting them feed off your energy. They are allowed to be cruel and we are expected to remain graceful? How you figure? Which person are you in this speech? Via: Healer Thoughts