I'm Jess from Melbourne. I like animals, guitar pedals, fantasy, boys and cartoons. I want to live in the UK.
and think that there was EVER a period in time when they respected us.
for every other reason
besides saggy pants!!
oh nah… keep listening to people who preach self hate because the world respects THE FUCK out of black people in a suit and tie.
no matter what you do, say or dress like they’ll continue to do shit like
there’s no such thing as black empowerment while still shaming black people.
I hope whoever posted that original picture realises black people aren’t required to dress like white people to deserve respect. Wear your pants as baggy as you fucking life, if someone has a problem with it because they expect everyone should wear a suit, they can get royally fucked.
Tonight I listened to a voicemail you left me three months ago. In it, you told me to go fuck myself. I still remember that night. I still remember those words rolling off your tongue so gracefully. I remember wondering how someone so beautiful could be so cruel. Two months ago I called you at three A.M. I expected you to ignore it, or to send me to voicemail; those were two of the things you were best at. You answered and I felt my heart begin to race; you probably thought it was because I missed you, but truthfully it was because I didn’t expect you to answer, and because I really had to pee. I asked you how you were and you sat there quietly and confused. It was like you forgot that I existed and that I was once a part of your life. You told me “fine” and I smiled. That was the last conversation we had. I made sure to let go of you, and every negative word that was said, in a peaceful way. Fast forward two months, and I still wonder how you are. I still wonder how your dog is and if you’ve seen any good movies lately. If you ever heard me say this, you’d probably blush like you used to whenever I said something sweet. You’d probably think I think these things because I still love you, that I still want you. But that is not the case. You see, six months ago I was jumping through hoops to please you. To make sure that you were happy before myself. To make sure that I was the one causing your happiness. But it is not six months ago. It is now. And now I simply remember you as a person I gave my soul to. A person I told secrets to at 4am and fucked to feel a sense of closeness. A person I loved, yes. But it is not six months ago. It is now, and now I miss you. I miss the way you called randomly just to ask how my day was. I miss the way you seemed to care, even if you didn’t. I miss the friendship and the secrets and the stories. And maybe one day things will be different. Maybe you’ll call me on a Tuesday afternoon and ask how my day was. These are the things I think about before my eyes slowly close and I am finally rewarded with sleep. But for right now? Go fuck yourself.