After writing A Love Letter To Black Women, I received a number of positive comments from Black women because according to them, they finally felt appreciated.  But one particular comment caught my eye.

angelsdelight@tripcrazed:

She didn’t believe someone outside her race could write her a flattering love letter, and even worse, that Black men don’t find their own women appealing.  This makes me sad, especially when hers wasn’t the only one that expressed similar sentiments.

Don’t they understand that everyone is beautiful in their own unique way, including themselves?

Unfortunately, Black women are one of the most exploited races of women in the world.  You can see the blatant objectification in nature documentaries and particularly National Pornographic Magazine when African females are often fully exposed.  It’s racism, as if dark breasts are inferior to lighter ones.

Do you honestly believe the same would apply if women of any other race were naked?  It’d be censored if a White or Asian woman was exposed in the same way.

The reason comes from the fact that Black people aren’t considered human in a lot of the scientific community.  Their backwards culture is being used to promote the false foundation of evolution.  Published on November 24, 1859, Charles Darwin’s ‘On the Origin of Species’ in its full title was called ‘On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life’.

Darwin, the flaming racist believed that some races (i.e. Blacks) are inferior to others.  He concluded the existence of living “primitive races” was one of the strongest evidences for evolution, and that they’re evolutionarily between the “civilized races of man” and the gorilla.

While Hollywood is conformed to the deception from the media that the original African woman is deemed unattractive, where having light skin and delicate features is the only form of beauty.  The evolution of a Black actress’ face is patterned to look like other races.

How often do you see Black women in the media without straightened hair or a weave?  How often do you see them without full lips, or other hybrid facial features?  It’s horrible because it teaches our society to stay away from women who look anything close to African Black.

And not to mention, the filth of promoting abuse against Black women in the hip-hop culture alone.  C(rap) videos render them into nothing more than body parts and sex slaves, and it’s tragic.  Because of this, the younger generation of Black men are deceived to think they’re only men if they’re man enough to treat their women like “hoes”.

I understand where angelsdelight@tripcrazed is coming from because Black women aren’t getting the appreciation they deserve, particularly by their own men.  As a consequence of the aforementioned, women of other races are exploited and objectified in another way, where Black men are lusting after everyone else.

Now I’m not someone who’s against interracial relationships.  I don’t believe in segregation or integration.  I believe in FREEDOM.  However, it’s also important for us to appreciate our own culture and heritage, and race.  The grass isn’t always greener on the other side, and if Black women feel neglected, we need to open our eyes a little more.

Kinky hair is uniquely elegant

Golden eyes are sparkly

Round facial features are tender and affectionate

Teeth gaps are exotic

Full lips are kissable and soft

BLACK WOMEN ARE BEAUTIFUL TOO

Reader, do you think Black women are beautiful?  Do you believe they’re being exploited and discriminated against by society?  Why or why not?  How do you feel about internal racism?

Have you ever had one of those moments when you feel like shit, as if you can’t take it anymore and all you want to do is let yourself go?

Basically, the story of my life…

It’s not easy, always faking a smile, especially around my nurses when I have to spend an hour doing physiotherapy.  I’m not obligated to entertain since we have a professional relationship, but as time goes by, a friendship eventually develops.  I can’t leave on my sad face every time someone comes.  If I did, no one would return.

I find it not so much annoying, but amusing when one continues to ask how I am.

“Just good?” she asks.

Silly woman, what would possess you to think I’d ever be great?

In a way, it does have something to do with the recent lemon of my life.  It’s one I’ve been gradually eating from ridiculous thoughts and reflections – a final outcome that was anticipated yet unexpected.  What makes it more ridiculous is that the sour taste was completely voluntary, but like a lot of things in life, there’s more to the story.

I don’t particularly blame this lemon as I was the one who chose to eat it.  As I continued to chew, I reflected upon things I already knew, only on a much deeper level.  Things have changed forever and there’s no going back.

Sometimes I can’t take it.  I can’t handle it, but no matter how much I’d like to give in, I’ve no choice except to be the outcast who continues to endure.  I never had the luxury to fall apart on these sentiments of mine.

But I really can’t take it.  I can’t hold it in any longer!  I can’t take the fact that I don’t even have the strength to wipe my own nose when it gets drippy with no one around.  I can’t take that it drips into my mouth with nothing I can do.  I can’t take that I don’t have the ability to reach my face and scratch the itchy red part on my cheek.  I can’t take that I have to close my eyes and hope for it to go away.  I can’t take that I have a broken heart that no one can ever fix…

I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!

And then suddenly, I realized the truth.  I didn’t have a broken heart.  I just had to take a giant poo.

Can anyone tell me what the hell this is?!

Credit: ShimmerBodyCream

According to a study conducted by the United States Department of Justice in 2006, there were 2,205 allegations of inmate-on-inmate non-consensual sexual acts reported in the U.S. prison system.  262 of the allegations were substantiated.

Rape is wrong, regardless, but…

As much as it makes me sick to even think about rape, there’s a matter I can’t overlook as a Christian. 

While I’m not a fan of women dressing promiscuously, it disturbs me when preachers get behind the pulpit and yell about it without being specific.  Even though they don’t touch on the matter directly, it’s implied that rape survivors are at fault for their suffering and trauma.

“BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN IF YOU DRESS LIKE A WHORE!!!”

It makes no difference if they’re buttoned up all the way because perverts are perverted and rapists will rape, regardless.  Yes, dressing loosely will attract lustful eyes, but sexual violence is all about power and control, while provocation can only occur with a rapist.   You can’t incite normal men to rape.

When the offender wants to violate a girl or woman, he’ll do whatever it takes.  Even IF there are triggers, it’s still not the victim’s fault.

And it’s unfortunate because even some women feel rape victims should be held responsible.  For someone, anyone, and particularly a woman to think that other females are asking for it is nothing short of sad.

So are women who breastfeed in public asking to be raped?

Everyone has a right to their opinions, but this mindset based on cruelty for women and girls who don’t follow a certain set of Godly standards is wrong.  Rapists still deserve the death penalty in the Bible and not the victims!

The reason this can’t be overlooked is that survivors of sexual violence may hear these heinous accusations and blame themselves, as if they haven’t been emotionally traumatized enough.  It’s heartbreaking.

You’ve all heard it before, preachers getting behind the pulpit saying, “Yes, you’re saved, but you’re still going to have to answer to God someday for what you’ve done if you don’t repent of your ways!”

This is nothing more than heretical propaganda Christians use to scare people into submission.  It goes against all the teachings of the Bible, and the entire plan of salvation.  When we stand before God at the judgment seat of Christ, do you think He is going to rehash and bring up some of our past sins after they’ve been paid for by the blood of Jesus?

No, we don’t need to answer to God for anything when Jesus Christ paid it all on the cross.  He bore all our sins when He spent three days and nights in hell.  Salvation is a FREE gift, while each and every sin we’ve committed will be FORGOTTEN.

Not only that, but some preachers actually tell us we’re going to stand before God with a huge television screen, and Jesus Christ is going to play back our private sins we thought nobody would ever know about in front of all the Christians of the world.  He’s also going to ask why we did them.

Can you imagine this conversation?

Now multiply that by all the times you’ve sinned, and everyone in heaven.  Why would God make us watch sin for billions of years?  Crazy!

So should we set wicked things before our eyes in heaven instead?  What if it’s fornication or adultery?

Where do these idiots come up with this stupidity?  These so-called “preachers”, these false teachers are a disgrace to Christianity.  They don’t preach against sin because they live in it, so they use illogical scare tactics to make themselves feel better.  They’re nothing more than dumb dogs that can’t bark.

Remember in ‘Don Juan DeMarco’ when he noticed the silk of a woman’s underclothing barely touching her skin?  It floated about her body on a cushion of air, like an angel’s wings brushing against her.  He found romance in the most beautiful way as he learned to become a man.

But I’m no Casanova, and my name isn’t Ricardo.  I’m just another ridiculous perv trying to find his way through a mind full of boobs and fried chicken, while chick flicks make me cry.  I suppose I could be a hopeless romantic, except I seem to find romance in other, stranger places.

Months after my spinal fusion surgery, I noticed something peculiar.  Perhaps it was a form of nerve damage, or some oddity of a medical kind, but whenever I touched my upper-right thigh, I’d feel a tingling sensation on the part closer to my knee.  It was a defining moment when I realized I had found romance… in my thigh?

To touch a woman, you must always reach from elsewhere.  It’s impossible to simply grab her heart when effort counts for everything.  You need to warm her with feelings of dreaminess, like on late summer afternoons when you can’t help but close your eyes to the radiant sunlight.  It’s to make her laugh and cry, inspiring her to dream of many beautiful things.  To realize her heart cries are really dreams of liquid diamond, and capture every droplet away.

You brush her hair from her face and she makes a small sigh.  You place your fingertips upon her lips and her frown becomes a smile.  You whisper how much you adore her everything and she glows a little more.

And you do these things because romance isn’t to aggressively chase after her.  It’s about finding the way to her heart in small steps, and gently unwrap her.

The real question is how can the journey of romance exist outside the confines of a bathroom when it’s much akin to the toilet?  Though you don’t require it to survive, without love, you’d have a huge mess only you can clean.

Despite the fact that fecal matter is the foundation for perfect analogies in all things meaningful, what I’m talking about is the toothbrush.  You might think it rather simple as far as personal hygiene is concerned, but it actually holds key to unlocking the secrets of romance.  It comes down to only one question of value:

Are you confident enough to make a promise that the toothbrush you’re currently using isn’t tainted or dipped in toilet water as your mouth could possibly contaminate hers?

If you’re capable of making such a promise, then and only then will you grasp the concept of unconditional love.

This is why if the love of your life is hurt in any way, it’s important to focus on her needs instead of vengeance.  While getting your butt thrown in prison, who’s going to make sure the enemy doesn’t break into your home and wreck havoc on your magic brush of cleanliness?

My name is Ricky, and I found romance inside my pants.