you see a few geberations of stipid fuckers

 

you see..........  an fucking nut job....... sometimes i am a  whole grain cracker ,....on a sunday i am black ,....then maybe i am a fucking blender .......this is the whole  generation of  simple  minded .......... servile  fuckwits....... using up resources on out planet ......if you have a  clit  .....youre a chick .....a dick....... a dude  .....we  have a  few  generations of  lost stupid  weak idiots  who have no idea  what  the fuck they are  ...a cheese  grater   a hair dryer  of  a  fucking apple  .....you dumb bastards  .....

Why I’m Only A Black Woman On Sundays

Reegan Saunders

Mon, July 18, 2022 at 7:23 AM·6 min read

I am only a Black woman on Sundays.

Let me clarify.

I am a 21-year-old Black nonbinary person. I was assigned female at birth. My pronouns are they/he. I am a lesbian. I am a journalist and an artist, and sometimes I am a musician. When I am not in school or at work, I love to crochet, visit farmers’ markets and spend time with my friends and my partner.

For me, being nonbinary is having the space to exist as a human. It’s sometimes hard to define, but at its roots, my identity is about releasing myself from expectation — it’s about fully embracing who I am. Including the times when I feel at home identifying as a Black woman. 

When I was younger, I felt empowered by the idea of a strong Black woman, someone who could do anything she set her mind to. Someone who could overcome the boundaries set by society. And when you grow up in a predominately white community as I did, you cling to that. But even that archetype became a fence for me to climb in my journey as a nonbinary person.

Growing up I never had conversations about what it meant to be queer. I knew what it meant to be gay, but I did not understand the scope of what queerness could look like. My vision of gay love was two white men with bowties and my vision of Black love was a nuclear family; it was my parents. When I was a teenager, I couldn’t turn on the tv and see Black queer love and the Black queer existence. And in some ways, I was cheated by that, but it also means that now I get to shape what it looks like for myself.

Being tethered to the picture of a Black girl, of a Black woman, is sometimes the only way I feel close to the Black community because we are not in a place where there are enough examples of Black nonbinary existence.

So, I have my Sundays. Sundays are an experience, a concept born from remembering times when my family would go to the Black church in town. I would put on my best dress, my hair would be pressed (with the ends bumped under of course) and I would walk into the church feeling like a young Black woman. To be seen as a Black woman in that moment was a comfort, and now I look back on it with fondness. Living as a Black woman in Black spaces is to feel connected with my ancestors and my community in a way that I do not always have the opportunity to. “Sundays” are when I’m at a cookout, when I’m talking to the older Black man who works mornings in my college dining hall, and when I listen to Woman by Doja Cat. These slivers of Black joy keep me tethered, in a positive way, to my upbringing as a Black girl.