No One Sings Songs for Sad Black Girls
I was only twelve years old when I first contemplated suicide. With tears laced with my father’s verbal lashings and a crippling self hatred streaming down my face, I emptied a bottle of painkillers into my hand, preparing to swallow them down. My mother walked in, talking me down off the proverbial cliff I had climbed onto and sent me off to school.
Anonymous asked: how do you feel about joan rivers dying?
same way she’d feel about me dying
I searched for myself in your images…
I had no business doing so but I did it and now I can’t decide if I regret it.