“Terms such as “culturally deprived,” “economically disadvantaged” and “underdeveloped” place the responsibility for their own conditions on those being so described. This is known as “blaming the victim.” It places responsibility for poverty on the victims of poverty. It removes the blame from those in power who benefit from, and continue to permit, poverty.
Still another example involves the use of “non-white,” “minority” or “third world.” While people of color are a minority in the U.S., they are part of the vast majority of the world’s population, in which white people are a distinct minority. Thus, by utilizing the term “minority” to describe people of color in the U.S., we can lose sight of the global majority/minority reality - a fact of some importance in the increasing and interconnected struggles of people of color inside and outside the U.S.
To describe people of color as “non-white” is to use whiteness as the standard and norm against which to measure all others.”—
if you’ve never kissed anyone and you’re 21 that’s cool too
don’t judge your life and your experiences based on the experiences of others because at the end of the day there are kids on broadway whose lives make yours look like shit no matter when you nerds get your first kiss
i love my brother so much omg i just want him to find his confidence and fight through his anxiety disorder because he can do it and i know it’s so much harder for him than it is for me but i just want him to have experiences in life and reach his dreams and see the world and ugh he’s just the best person ever all around, always encouraging me, calling me and asking how things are, he was the first person to calm me down when i was diagnosed, he makes me laugh to forget my pain and anxiousness and he just knows me, bro4lyfe yo
It wasn’t just that I was leaving.
(For the 2:40 bus. For reasons thick in the air.
For reasons that lived beneath the house.
Forever this time)
It wasn’t just that he said it,
(It was the way he said it.
Standing in the doorway, his mouth a thin
clothesline, eyes like two bloodless sunsets
It wasn’t that I didn’t say it back
(Couldn’t soothe him one last time.
Wasn’t that girl anymore. Had a bus to catch.
It wasn’t that I didn’t,
(Though I had stopped breathing his name.
Stopped worshipping his mouth.
Didn’t know yet I still had years
before I stopped dreaming in his voice)
It was the way he knew
I would not say it
(Knew I hated him
for his weakness. Knew his heart
disgusted me. Knew I had caught a butterfly
only to rub it with my hands. Remove the resin.
Leave it winged and without flight)