I wondered how men with such delicate bodies seemed to be the only ones who could endure the storm. We bought crop tops, tight jeans, and earrings so big that they touched our shoulders.
My cousins can be split into two groups: Ones who grew up with weaves and skin lighteners and ones who needed sunscreen and haircuts.
I had hushed conversations in the corners of cafés about how important it was to keep feeding the black community with positive affirmations and how it began with loving black men.
I wore Black Lives Matter buttons, attended marches, sported hoodies, vowed to date only black men, and prepared myself to raise a son who might be faced with a death in the same vein as Trayvon, a name I had spoken so often that it felt like that of a brother.
That scam artist ruffled some feathers over the past week or so stating that “He can not respect a black man who dates or marries a black woman.” I’m not going to link you to his diatribe because I refuse to give that man more credit than he deserves, moving on.
What has resurfaced is a discussion on can someone be Pro-Black and date interracially.