my daughter told me i have a beautiful heart and that i needed to keep my peace, keep my calm, so the morning after the election i ended up at a yoga class. the instructor arrived and unlocked the door. she was a young black woman. she said good morning and i said it back.
how do you write about the strange fruit in america these past months? how do you write about it as a person with skin so light that i always pass in every situation? maybe you don’t write about it. but i don’t know how not to. as each video was shared i understood that this
well, not too many of you picked up the gauntlet to write your own stories out. i feel a little like i did that day with the friend i wrote about. telling you my deep, dark secrets only to be met with silence. but that’s okay. the person i referenced in the story i shared
i am just another white woman walking in his shop. just another tourist on vacation with my blonde hair and my cute as a button daughter. i’m picking up sandals and trying to decide if i want to spend too much money on shoes. “quaint.” earlier i’d heard a man say it behind me