“Miles Davis” By Jean Michel Basquiat

Growth is realizing Basquiat’s piece on Miles Davis is a social commentary about black people in predominantly white spaces. An experience dubbed a privilege, it’s one only uber successful blacks have. The entire reason my business partner/friend and I got into an altercation that permanently rifted our relationship.

I advised her to take a Buzzfeed quiz regarding how privileged you grew up. It was suppose to be an exercise in gratitude. That life isn’t as bad as it seems. While I got results of really privileged, she got the exact opposite.

Reviewing the discrepancies in our answers together on the phone, she brought up the question “Have you ever been the only black person in the room?” She thought the question was outlandish and weird. For me, it was a large part of my upbringing on the Upper East Side and more. Both of us were astounded by the other’s response. I never realized all the implications of these incidents. Unfortunately it destroyed our friendship, she felt inferior due to the disparities in how we were raised. Envy made her angry at me. Whereas my angry was directed at the racists whites perpetuating inequality. See the difference? Crab in a barrel ass bitch. Via: Jean Michel Basquiat

Period Peek-A-Boo And Poverty

Period anxiety is real. Recently my period has started skipping a day, leading me to falsely believe it’s finished. Only to emerge an entire 24 hours later for 24 hours. As if- designating underwear for the sole purpose of bloody destruction, hoping it appears at an appropriate time, praying you don’t stain someone else’s sheets with its stealth arrival, or worse bleed in public- isn’t enough. Yes please add period peek-a-boo to the bingo card (I’m being facetious).

Solution: panty liners, making me feel for all the people suffering from period poverty. I can afford the extra security, the only time I couldn’t was while dating Mick Jagger. A person who financially abused man remorse, wanting access to my main bank account to take everything.
Refusing to ask a single person for help, I relied solely on GOD. Budgeting whatever remaining money I had, by using paper towels when the last of my tampons ended. This was the only time I’ve experienced period poverty, under the trance of an abuser that Sebastian Stan broke me out of. Reflecting back I wouldn’t change a thing, I grew up privileged. Until that abusive relationship I was unaware sneakers were sold without insoles! Now all I see are a million things I’m going to help fix, period poverty being one of them. What if I didn’t have paper towels? There are people who don’t, having to skip school or work, sacrifices they shouldn’t be forced to make. Via: By Make Up Heaven