I can remember thinking that I needed to be a lady. My Mama raised us that way or at least she tried because that’s what women do. Mold their daughters to be what men say they want. I followed these rules up until I was a teenager. Didn’t cut my hair, sat up straight, tried not to be too loud, didn’t cuss… I basically didn’t do anything unlady like.
Then I heard a Little Kim track.
I was obsessed with that little woman from the moment I heard her voice. I knew all of her songs and posted her pictures on my wall. I’m sure I even named one of my vibrators after her. I still love her. Til death. But every time she crosses my mind now, I feel sadness.
Sadness because in loving her I had to know her story, too. I’m all for women changing their hair, bodies, and whatever else they want in order to be happy. It just has to be for themselves. I hate knowing that a man made her feel that she wasn’t enough, because she was more than enough. That woman was fine as fuck.
It makes me even more sad that I can relate. I’ve been there with the people that wanted me to be different physically. I’m just glad that I found myself enough to know better otherwise, I’d look just like Kim.
I wasn’t always the girl that was told she was pretty. Brown, buck-teeth, wide nose, kinky hair, and thin. That’s what I looked like. Guess what? People still liked me.
My ex liked her women white or Hispanic. She expressed this often. She always wanted me to straighten my hair. She often reminded me that I was thicker than she liked when I’m actually not big at all, but I mean when you’re used to dealing with Meth Anne, I guess I understand. I would just take it at first, but the savage in me got tired because, like, why the fuck are you here? You are more than welcome to trade me in for tacos or unseasoned food. There are other faces I can be sitting on while you’re wasting my time.
I had to humble her because she wasn’t my “type” either. If I have to go for physical, which I don’t because I truly believe in loving the soul and mind of a person, I like my women artsy: dreads, tattoos, piercings. I like my women with a sense of style.
She had none of this, well, except the tattoos. She also didn’t exactly have a winning personality or money or a luxury car. I’m just talking shit, but for real. She was basic.
She tried it.
I’m not bleaching my skin, I wear my hair the way I feel like it, even if that’s uncombed, and you’re going to take this body however it comes. You want bones, go get it. You want somebody with a massive ass or a BBW, I can point you in the right direction. I have a waiting list of people willing to suck orange soda from my ass if I asked them to, even your homies (insert shrugs). Ain’t no way I’ll let someone who can’t do a single thing for me that I can’t do myself, hit my self-esteem in a way that I want to transform.
I don’t even ask myself what another woman has that I don’t. I’m not competing. You can go. I know who I am. I know what I offer. You see it or you don’t.
My last Said Lover called herself making out with a non-black woman and felt the need to announce her race.
First of al, black women get enough shit and here we have our own trying to make us constantly feel inferior (blog for another day).
***Shoutout to Said Lover in November for only loving dark-skinned black women and being radical about it. Black Lives Matter. Keep your all lives to yourself on this one.***
Months later, Said Lover decided to tell me her name and was like, I can show you what she looks like.
Why does it matter what she looked like? Why do you even still have access to a woman you swear you don’t talk to, to show me what she looks like? Will seeing her make me feel less betrayed? NO. Will it erase what happened? NO.
A part of me believes she wanted me to feel insecure, but that doesn’t work on women like me. It just turns me off. Who plays those types of games? It shows me who you are and what you think of me.
She can have you will forever be my favorite thing to say, because there is an infinite amount of people out here who know I’m amazing. And I’m not talking about people who stalk me on IG or Facebook. I don’t even feed into that type of validation. There are two type of women in this world: wounded or awakened. Guess which one I am.
Anyway, I’ve even had to call myself out on this because I do have a preference for chocolate. I was with a light-skinned woman for five years (remains undefeated in time) and I always told her she needed a tan. That wasn’t right of me and I recognize it.
Everyone is allowed to have a preference, but we are not allowed to force those things or our own insecurities onto other people.
So to Lil Kim, I’m sorry. You looked better than Faith Evans and Charlie Baltimore. The world was at your feet. You deserved more than what you were offered. Thank you for making me unapologetic.
I still love you.