In which a millennial black boy discovers the power of his thoughts and the impact of a pen. The consequences thereafter are devastating.
A collection of shitty poems and real life experiences narrated from the perspective of a charcoal dreamer.
One day in class, a girl quickly pulled me aside to ask:
"Why do you have such a girly lockscreen?"
I had to take a hard look at my phone to figure out what she was even talking about. My lockscreen was decorated with pink flowers and Beyoncé lyrics.
And it hit me.
Pink was presented to us at an early age to help us differentiate genders. The pink ranger, Barbie, Dora's shirt, even. All a stigma.
Flowers, their beauty and frailty, has been a timeless representation of women because, women are supposed to be beautiful and frail. Right?
And Beyoncé, because she represents female empowerment, is meant only for girls. Music suddenly has a gender.
But now that I'm old enough, I can differentiate genders on my own. Boys have penises and girls have vaginas. See? No color code needed.
And now that I've seen what women are capable of, I know that they are not all stereotypically beautiful and frail. The entire gender cannot be represented by a plant.
And apart from all the other necessary things that Beyoncé advocates for, yes, feminism is one. But if I advocate to end animal cruelty does that make me an animal? If a white person tweets "black lives matter" does that make them black? So why does my belief in feminism suggest I'm feminine?
It's unbelievable how intent the human race is on dividing itself.
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