African Daughter. First steps on African soil. Bathed in the presence of Africa. kissed by the African sun.

Letting her mind speak and think through her heart... She is africa
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Poverty isn’t a Money Problem (via sociolab)

(via andropomorphine)

Poverty isn’t a money problem for poor people; poverty (in the richest country in the world) is a problem with our distribution of resources. Poverty is the problem of inequality. Poverty is a problem because the rich hoard their resources. Poverty is a problem because corporations hoard cash while Americans remain unemployed. Poverty is a problem because of corporate welfare. Poverty is a problem because of unethical job creators. The problem isn’t because poor people are poor; the problem is because the rich never think they are rich enough.




do you think God ever gets sad like “what do you mean you don’t love yourself i worked so hard on you….”

…why is this so uplifting

I’m not even religious and this makes me smile.

(via nellyg14)

Unknown (via keepcal-m)

(Source: sn0bbish, via andropomorphine)

Sometimes you can’t explain what you see in a person. It’s just the way they take you to a place where no one else can.


I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and that doesn’t say much I’ve always been an introspective person, even when I was a kid.

But I’ve been thinking about things I am afraid of.

This year is a transitional year for me, I am turning 22 years old, I am finishing college, I have been depressed for 9 years of my life and i’m tired.

I’ve been thinking I need to get back on SSRI’s, I’ve been thinking maybe what I need is art and rawness and destruction. That sometimes I wonder what existing in a body or mind that isn’t always exhausted, afraid or anxious would feel like. 

I’ve been taking long walks in the cold, in my mind and in person and I’ve been thinking I should stop lying to people and saying i’m okay. 

But all I get in response to all my questions is fog, dense, unshakable fog. Fog so think sometimes I think it is water  ready to drown me in my sorrows, in my numbness and in my loneliness.

There is something so perverse  about feeling so lonely and yet having sadness’ shadow pressed tightly against your back, an enemy, sometimes a friend.

I guess what I’m saying is that I am afraid, and tired , I am worn down bones and aching shoulders and i’ve been thinking and some days i’d like it to stop.

Most times when i go through my tumblr i get emotional. Not only because people post awesome stuff but because it feels real. Though we are all far apart, separated by oceans, mountains and boarders. Somehow i feel like whoever is posting on the other side of the world or town is real, their awesome in their own weird way, funny and smart.. And all the good stuff. Anyway what i want to say is, I sometimes wish i could just jump into my screen and touch each and everyone of you and just let you know that i see you, i hear you, i feel you. Love all my tumblr followers.


For the love of our children


still from Good Times

(Source: afirahs, via jadoreafrica)

How rape trials should go?

Lawyer:Did he rape her?
Witness:Yes, but she was drunk and passed out.
Lawyer:That's not what I asked. Did he rape her?
Witness:Yes, but she was wearin-
Lawyer:I didn't ask what she was wearing. Did he rape her?
Witness:Yes, but-
Lawyer:I didn't ask anything else. It's just a simple yes or no answer. Did he rape her?
Laywer:Yes, he raped her.
Rape is rape is rape, no matter the context.
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