My friend sends a picture over whats app. It is an advertisement for a spa featuring a white woman. It said “White women days”. There is so much psychology behind it I can’t phantom. I don’t discuss it with her, I am tired. I think all women of color are, besides we’ve had the conversation plenty of times. All I can do is think of Zahira Kelly, the Dominican artist that always paints black girls relaxing and living the life because in real life we rarely do. How black and brown women are always in charge of the hard labor. How white women get the top positions in the office but it’s our mothers that clean after them.

I think of my mother, of how many times she has told me that her fingers hurt. My mother washes dishes at a restaurant. Sometimes, she’s on her feet for twelve hour straight. But she says its still better than working for a rich white woman that used to make her feel like dirt. That wouldn’t let her take the day off unless she herself looked for replacement. My mother has never been on a real vacation in all her 50+ years of life. But she still hopes to see New York one day. I dream of taking her. I think of all the times I too have been treated of something that has no value,by men, by people in my family, how many names before my own. How often it has been linked directly to where I come from, to my afro hair, to what I look like, to my body.

Walking home today a man one too many years my senior  followed me, he called me pretty but couldn’t leave it at that. He had to say that he liked my body too. I was in jeans, a sweater, and a jacket but these black girl attributes that can’t be hidden with clothes. Modesty doesn’t apply here. Don’t ask for it doesn’t apply here.

There is such a huge difference between the way they treat black and white women. Yes, we are all oppressed but the white woman is often a staircase while the black one is a doormat.

These days, the only place where I see black women being loved is on YouTube and oddly enough most of them by dull white men. The sight of it, makes me uncomfortable. But if we aren’t safe in the arms of our men, if they trade us for white women, what are we supposed to do? In real life, I don’t know one woman that looks like me and has love. most of them have convenience, or stayed because of the kids, or because they lose more by leaving. We are the women who designed another pattern around relationships because it was obvious from the start that we wouldn’t be valued.
On another note, I am tired of people thinking I am for the taking.
Tired of everyone constantly trying to benefit from my mind and acting like I am the one that should be honored

They are interested. Tired of being a good little mule showing up everywhere for everyone in exchange for nothing. There’s nothing you can do in exchange for worth, when you are born in a world that erased you from history. All we have are white women days, even when they live to mimic all the black women ways.

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