I started holding back. I stopped listening. Beyoncé embodied blackness and I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to be a part of it. As her performance at Coachella neared, a platform that could be considered the whitest music festival ever, I was nervous. Beyoncé as headliner wasn’t just exciting, it was momentous. Her mother was uneasy at the thought of her daughter performing on such a historically white stage, too. What if all those white folks just didn’t get it?
I thought moving back home would resolve my indecision. But as I continue to run, no matter where my feet land, I’m still here. For the first time in my life things aren’t happening in planned succession; the next thing doesn’t feel proximate. As a child I hurried into being a grown-up. Now I feel less like the adult I’ve always been and more like the child I never was.
It was a platonic love, more special even than kinship or sisterhood. We weren’t born tethered to each other; we chose to be.
Is sex consensual if one person participates but doesn’t feel safe and secure?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a writer. Not professionally, but in quiet moments in my room, on airplanes, and in birthday cards. I got a degree in English Lit, which for
“Am I the reason you doubt yourself and your beauty?” my mom asked.
It was a heavy question, but I knew the answer without hesitation. Yes.