I, Little Colored Girl…

Black. Bunched. Mass. Mom.

These are the days when I’m taken back to barrettes and braids, little corduroy jumpers and precious little shoes. Days like this and news like this take me back to childhood days of drawing on sidewalks and bikes with extra wheels. The careless days, the days when you knew you mattered and couldn’t ever imagine otherwise.

Because I was a lucky little colored girl.

Maya’s voice was big enough, the stories she told important enough, that my careless days were joyful days. I was a colored girl who mattered because the stories of little colored girls were being told, and read, and thought about. Little colored girls had, thanks to Maya, become people, too. Our preciousness had finally become manifest because her words so pierced through the minds and hearts of a nation that had not really stopped to see us.

And when I was old enough to start to…

View original post 578 more words

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s