What Are You Afraid of…The Love Below?: Black Female Sexual Agency and the Power/Penalty of Yes


I recently hosted a shindig with a group of 30-somethings at my home.  The group was composed of both men and women, and much of the conversation—albeit fueled by alcohol and barbecue—revolved around male/female relationships and of course sex.  One of the men present at the event put forth the premise that all women fall into four hierarchically based categories: marriageable date-able, fuck-able, and untouchable.

This statement immediately sent me to my special place.  My anger reached biblical proportions. That is a less judicious part of me wanted to smite him on sight—but instead I listened. I listened to him rationalize ad nauseam a limited, simple, and rather hurtful view of women and in particular Black women.  I may be biased, but to me a Black woman’s experience and the way she does “womanhood” is too unique and really too  divine to be reduced to arbitrary categories. Yet his premise gives us a point of departure to discuss Black female sexual agency: its power and its penalty.

The fictions around Black female sexuality are dangerous.  From the sexually repressed mammie to the wanton jezzebel, these convenient and simplistic archetypes make me nervous for several reasons.  First, they are symbolic of the greater cultural systems of patriarchy that normalize sexism and more pointedly sexual prohibition for women—and in particular Black women. Second, they subvert Black women’s sexual agency and support constructed myths of the “good girl” and the “bad girl” to the detriment of Black female sexual identity formation. Finally, they treat sex as a commodity within the relational transactions of Black women and men, thereby stripping it of its spiritual and natural origins.

For decades, Black women have had to negotiate a sexual identity against the historical backdrop of slavery that found them the victims of systematic rape and sexual abuse.  From these origins, a range of sexual stereotype regarding Black women have emerged in the larger culture.  We have been portrayed as either oversexed or sexually deficient.  Sadly, the Black female voice has largely been left on the margins of such discussions, particularly when it contradicts mainstream ideas.   Accordingly, to assert agency over one’s sexuality may even today be interpreted within the parameters of stereotypes like the Jezebel:

The portrayal of Black women as lascivious by nature is an enduring stereotype. The descriptive words associated with this stereotype are singular in their focus: seductive, alluring, worldly, beguiling, tempting, and lewd. Historically, White women, as a category, were portrayed as models of self-respect, self-control, and modesty – even sexual purity, but Black women were often portrayed as innately promiscuous, even predatory. This depiction of Black women is signified by the name Jezebel.2

Jezebel Stereotype

In the song “She Lives in My Lap”, by Outkast, a breathy Rosario Dawson’s whispers the lyrics: What’s wrong?/What are you afraid of?/The Love Below. I thought this line was very telling about the power differential that sex can cause in modern male female relationships.  I believe that many men are equal parts attracted to and fearful of a sexually confident woman.

All too often, a women’s sexual ego is equated to her ability to please a man— rather than her ability to derive sexual pleasure for herself.  However, if a woman outwardly expresses her desire for sexual pleasure and moreover asserts agency over her sexuality, she is often reduced to the “jump-off, “the  provocateur”, or ” the heaux”.  Categories and stereotypes become a way of managing common fears men have around female sexuality: that they will fail to please their partner, that their partner might commit adultery, or that they will erase men from their sexual experience all together.

The good girl/bad girl construct is another fall out of patriarchal thinking.   Steve Harvey’s Act like a Woman, Think like a Man is an artifact of this construct.   What’s the difference between a lady and a woman?  Patriarchy.  Western society promotes so-called sexual purity in women as a desirable quality for a mate.  On its face sexual purity isn’t a bad thing; I would simply argue that its value is applied inequitably across the sexes.   Black women are well aware of the “boys will be boys” mentality that governs sexual power structures of our community and for that matter larger Western society, but I believe we have been downright complacent, if not content to uphold and even perpetuate this norm.  We see and define our own value within these constructs: be sexually desirable—yes, desire sex outside the norms of society—no.

Categorizing or stereotyping women along lines of their collective sexual behavior is not only damaging to the female psyche, but I would argue equally dangerous for the greater society.  Ironically, as I type this, I am watching the documentary Love Crimes of Kabul. It traces the story of Afghan women who face prison for adultery and premarital sex.  While worlds apart from my reality, I would argue that the sexist ideology that governs such practices is very real in Western culture  and in the African-American community.  Listening to women talk about their lack of power to define their sexual behavior is an apt metaphor for the power struggles Black women face in defining, owning, leveraging, and embracing their sexuality.  Pain and pleasure interplay in this long running narrative.

Ever since Eve and the apple came into our cultural consciousness, women’s power over their sexuality has been compromised.  Women and men need to collectively take the power struggle, and manipulation out of our sexual relationships, in order to get back to its purest state. Sex is natural, spiritual, and beautiful.  When Black women and Black men confront each other honestly about what they are both seeking, the categories become extinct, the myths are debunked, and the stereotypes are confronted.  Love becomes free again. 

Catching Grenades: Dudes Do What They Want to Do. Always.


Ladies, I am going to let you in on a little secret.  Something that has been paradigm-shifting for me.  Are you ready?  Here it goes:  “Dudes do what they want to do.  Always.”  This little maxim is the only real wisdom I have about men folk, but it has been truly illuminating.  It has given me the freedom to stop analyzing and simply start living, and in the best case love with anticipation and not debilitating expectation.

As women, we have a tendency to get caught in analysis  paralysis when it comes to our romantic relationships.  We spend countless man hours and tremendous bandwidth trying to figure out what he is thinking, feeling, and desiring.  This kind of behavior almost always becomes an exercise in self-deprecation. We begin to blame ourselves for why he isn’t responding, acting, or otherwise behaving the way we want him to.  Perhaps it is that we don’t listen, or we are not accomplished, thin, pretty, or smart enough.  We begin to create these mythologies to provide a rationale for another person’s behavior and we operate within the myth, when there is only one real truth. Again I will say it:   “Dudes do what they want to do. Always”

Men are uniquely binary. They tend to operate more comfortably in a space of  “yes” or “no”, whereas women tend to prefer more choices; we are creatures of nuance.  The fact that men tend to thrive in the black and white spaces of life, and not in the gray should make things easier on us. However, all to often our choice to over analyze negates this opportunity for peace and truth.  We still sit around with our girlfriends trying to figure out why he doesn’t call, why he won’t leave her, why he won’t go down the aisle or even to the movies, when the answer is simple. He doesn’t do any or all of those things because he doesn’t want to.  When he does, he will. Simple.

This whole theory is not to suggest that men are not complex. I hate the idea floating around that men our “simple”; to my mind they are just has  cerebrally splendid and capable of feeling, as their female counterparts.  However, the extent to which they work comfortably in the emotional realm is perhaps more limited than women, but when they do—I would argue that men can be far more deliberate, loyal, and even invested.  So what does this look like?

I have known men that once in love with a woman will put up with every kind of demoralizing form of rejection one can imagine.  Bruno Mars sings about catching grenades for the woman to whom he was devoted.  Yes—this song is melodramatic, but there is a lot of truth in this metaphor.  Because men do what they want to do, when they decide they want to love you or make you happy, the lengths they will go to to do so are remarkable.  Have you ever had a guy in your life, who was crazy about you?  I don’t me lunatic stalker crazy; I mean genuinely into you.  I have and I will tell you that in every case I never had to question how he felt or what he was thinking because his actions demonstrated everything I needed to know.   “Dudes do what they want to do. Always”

I hope that this little tidbit  of wisdom helps you move on or move to a relationship that is affirming, fulfilling, and useful.  I also hope that it will help you loose whatever binds you have on your romantic life.  The next time you find your self ruminating  about what Mr. Man wants, needs, or feels immediately remember: “Dudes do what they want to do” and then channel that energy into yourself or even into serving others.  The time we spend devoting energy to understanding what he is thinking can be much more profitably spent defining our own hopes, desires, and dreams.

Thoughts?

The Brown Girl’s Dilemma: Beauty Standards, Media, and Colorism


It is 2011.  Colorism should be a relic of  America’s ugly racist past. Yet one look at Twitter or a BET video countdown and you will see that Black America’s internal struggle with complexion is still alive  and thriving today.  Hash tags of #teamlightskin and #teamdarkskin abound in online social networks and this is sad.  Media conceptions of Black beauty all to often fail to show its remarkable and brilliant diversity; this should change.

We all know that divisions around complexion were created  during slavery to further manipulate and conquer a stolen people.   However, I wonder why we continue to internalize such divisions to collective our detriment.

Today, I  can say without any reluctance or shred of dishonesty that I for one love the brown skin I’m in.  Yet complexion has informed my conception of myself for as long as I can remember.   Whether it was growing up and questioning if my brown skin was really beautiful, or wishing for long silky hair; the issue of colorism crystallized for me well before I could intellectualize it in a useful way.

At five-years-old I did not know about America’s tradition of slavery and legalized discrimination. Then “Jim Crow” would have sounded like a  funny name for a Sesame Street character.  However, I could observe and it was made clear to me through film, television, and even family dynamics that light-skin was preferable.

My father’s family were very dark-skinned people, and in contrast my maternal grandfather could have passed for white.  This led to an interesting color politic between the various households I moved through.   I grew up hearing pejoratives and stereotypes associated with both light and dark skin that definitely colored my self-perception and how I perceived others. Some of the malarkey I heard growing up included stereotypes like: “dark-skinned” women are naturally mean and could not be trusted.  In contrast, “light-skinned” or “yella” women—though beautiful—were highfalutin.   Children were embraced and doted on for their beauty  based on their complexion. Light eyes and soft hair were rewarded, and dark skin and kinky hair were resultantly penalized.

My grandma checked my ears at birth to either confirm or deny what my complexion was going to be.  However, to be fair she was born in 1916 and a lot of her ideas around race were a product of being raised in a segregated South.  My father once told me he wished I had his soft curly hair instead of my mother’s less than soft and curly hair.  As a little girl, I can even remember asking my mother why I was so much darker than her, and expressing that I wished I was her complexion.  It is memories like these that formed the foundation for my  self-conception as a dark skinned Black woman.

School reinforced this original conception.  When I played pretend with my schoolmates, we would imagine we were light-skinned with long hair.   In the 80’s and I would argue even now, fair-skinned beauties were the dominant representation of  which Black was beautiful.  We wanted to look like Vanessa L. Williams, Tracey Spencer, Pebbles, or The Good Girls. From where I stood, the girls in school who were considered the most beautiful and popular were those with fairer skin and long hair.  I am positive that this experience was felt entirely differently from the girls who embodied these traits.  In fact, since my adolescent travails around color, I have talked to my girlfriends who have the light skin, the green eyes, the soft hair.  Guess what?  They experienced just has much hurt and color confusion from being ostracized, stereotyped, and otherwise harassed.

Dating  in the DMV is always an interesting experiment in color politics.  This area is probably more susceptible to this kind of nonsense because of the transient nature of the residents and  the area’s historic ties to Black Bourgeoisie or African-American elite.   As a very brown girl, I have had the experience of being told I was beautiful–with the caveat.  Those who have this experience know exactly what I mean.  You know the whole “your pretty for a brown-skinned girl” or “I don’t usually date dark girls” spiel.  I frankly cannot stomach this kind of talk and it is an immediate turn off. It is fine to have a preference around what you find attractive; however, I would challenge those with these kinds of ideas about complexion to look at their own experience. I’d ask you to consider how much of what you deem attractive has been informed by the media, hip-hop, the beauty industry?   Similarly, I say to the women who say they want their kids to be light-skinned or have good hair, you are simply fueling a disgusting cycle of self-hate.  Please stop.

You may have seen the trailer for the soon to be released documentary film “Dark Girls”.  The film—produced by Bill Duke for Duke Media and D. Channsin Berry for Urban Winter Entertainment— documents dark-skinned African-American women recounting their painful experiences around their color. The amount of sadness, self-loathing, pain, and denial in this brief preview is demoralizing.  Yet the film has ignited  a long overdue public conversation around colorism and intra-racism.

Ultimately, we need get away from these toxic and misinformed conceptions born of a racist past.  We should not let this ugly tradition fuel what and who we are today.   Beauty is socially constructed and hence can be deconstructed.  Accordingly, we need to start embracing various representations of Black beauty.   However, if we look critically at this issue, I think more than diverse representations we will find the need for a catharsis.  The hurt caused around this issue is what troubles me more than anything.  I hope that “Dark Girls”  will be a platform for this.

So where do you stand on this complexion thing?   How has colorism affected your self-conception?  How does it affect your dating choices and options? Where do you see historic remnants of colorism playing out in our modern time?  Do you subscribe to the Team Light Skin and Team Dark Skin parodies? Do such attempts to make light of this obviously complex issue help or hurt the matter?

Falling Like The Rain: We Ain’t Running Out!


Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking around the idea of “scarcity”.  In psychology and economics, the Scarcity Principle describes our urge to obtain something that we believes we may not be able to get in the future.

In the economy of human relationships, the media treats single Black men as a “scare commodity”.  Within this paradigm, Black women are conditioned to believe that the quality partners they are looking for are a rare and limited resource.  However, I would  like to offer a bit of critique of this now widely held and statistically backed perspective.  I am concerned that this narrative only amplifies the problems for men and women in the dating pool.

News Flash:  Men are falling like the rain.  We are in no danger of running out, despite what any number of blogpost, news reports, and articles in women’s magazines will tell you.  They will cite numerous measures around the number of Black men who are in prison, exclusively dating outside the race, or homosexual.  For instance, this article on mybrotha.com states there only 27 available Black men available for 100 Black women. The statistical soundness of this dataset is more than questionable, but for all the barriers to finding a partner; I am not readily convinced that it boils down to a sheer numbers game.

I believe what is required is a paradigm shift by Black women en masse. If we continue to treat the identification of a quality partner as a desperate endeavor—grounded in jealousy and competition—we are only fueling the spiral of scarcity.  In this environment, Black men who do not even have the characteristic or desire to build genuine or profitable relationships with quality Black women are reaping the benefits of being a valued commodity–without actually being one.

Accordingly, our dating marketplace has become Canal Street.  Canal Street is a notorious bastion of fake designer goods.  The public flocks here to purchase cheap facsimiles of exclusive items—like the elusive Birkin Bag.  The Birkin is a handmade purse by Hermès.  It is the ultimate symbol of wealth and privilege.  Birkins are released on unpredictable schedules and in limited quality creating scarcity in the marketplace.  Now Canal Street is full of knock-off Birkins.  These bags are not unique, handmade, or otherwise special.  My point: LADIES STOP TREATING THE KNOCK-OFF LIKE THE REAL THING.

In any situation where you have scarcity you have panic and acts of desperation.  Ladies we have to stop selling ourselves short, in order to obtain any kind of man.   Compromising your real desires for connection, authentic relationships, love, and good treatment only fuels the cycle of scarcity.  We have to be wise consumers to get what we really want: genuine relationships and authentic love.

Scarcity is tied to our survival instinct, but there are lots of good guys out here.  They may not be the Alpha male, or fly, or otherwise jiggy—but they do exist.  However, the marketplace will react to the way we interact with  it.  If as a collective, Black women decided to  diversify our markets, and more importantly set our own price to align to the real value we bring, we might get better outcomes.  If we treat ourselves cheaply, we are no better than the knock-off Birkin we so detest. I am making a call for us to stop competing with each other for minimal treatment, hurt feelings, and disappointment.  Let’s raise up our standard to get what we TRULY deserve: the kind of love that will hold us for a lifetime.

Don’t You Wish Your Girlfriend was Fun Like Me?: On Being the Life of the Party


I’m writing this from home tonight.  I am at  home—on a Friday night. This isn’t supposed to happen to me……

You see:  I’m the life of the party. Eddie Murphy could have dedicated “Party All the Time” to me. I’m the queen of charisma and my cup runneth over with personality.  I am am off a scales extrovert, a maverick, and a some may argue a certified wild child.  While I’d push back on that last moniker—admittedly—I like to be on the scene. Shaking hands and kissing babies is my thing. I got it honest. Both my parents were parties and growing up we were always celebrating life. Because I get my energy by engaging with others, and I am an awesome dancer (you should see me hit the dougie), I have always embraced the intrigues of night life.  What’s better than getting all glammed out in lashes and stilettos, and tipping on the scene with your gal pals? Not much!

However, while my outgoing  personality and reputation for being out in about is great for creative work, awesome for networking, and fantastic for reality TV shows, sadly it is not ideal for landing Mr. Right.  I am finding that being  Ms. Champagne Life is busting up my dating life.

I never really thought of myself as a party girl, but I’ve noticed, as my friends have begun to settle down that my latent post-adolescent desire to hit the streets is pretty remarkable amongst my set.  As many of my peers are picking out china patterns or pushing strollers,  my attentions are drawn to much lighter diversions.  Sure, I am striving towards my professional goals, and busy with community service, but nevertheless the streets keep calling. Perhaps, it is because I got married and divorced by like twelve, but I’m definitely on the scene now harder than any other damn near thirty-year-old I know.  Ten years ago, while my girls were in the club, I was cooking, cleaning, and doing the best impersonation of a young Claire Huxtable I could muster.  Since my divorce, I have done plenty of  healing, growing, maturing…but I’ve been doing a whole helluva of  a lot of partying.

I’m having a great time living the champagne life, the only problem is when the party is over, every one wants someone to go home to. A guy friend kicked some knowledge to me on the whole matter that was really a revelation.  You see it turns out, a lot of guys don’t really go for the so-called party girl  or at worst we get stereotyped as the good time girl.  Here are a few reasons why getting to wifey and/or girlfriend status is a herculean challenge for a girl like me:

  1. Men assume you have someone or a lot of someones
  2. Men are intimidated and or overwhelmed by your confidence and won’t approach
  3. A certain kind of guy isn’t willing to share the spotlight and will opt for quiet eye candy or vocal charisma
  4. Your awesome is generally misunderstood

Here is where I’m come out on this whole analytical conundrum.  For a brief moment, I really considered  being less: a bit more quiet and adopting the homebody swag, under the misguided hope that prince charming would gallantly ride to my door atop a white horse, my size Louboutins in hand.  However, like lightning it occurs to me:  I am not willing to CHANGE  for any dude.  I’ve been there done that, and bought the t-shirt.  I will never go there again.  I was only a pale and less interesting version of myself, when I lived that way and all in all life is too short to be something you or not.  I figure, the right guy will be handle me and all my awesome no problem.  Better yet, he’ll want to party with me!  So here it is:  They say life is a party, so we might as well dance!  You with me?

Hoop Ho Diaries: In Defense of Evelyn


Ah Basketball wives…how do I love thee…..let me count the ways….

Basketball Wives is everything great about bad reality TV: conspicuous consumption, beautiful women, melodrama, sex, gossip, enough cats fight to rival your local all girls parochial school, and if that wasn’t enough; they even gave us a little Al Reynolds this season to boot.  The show chronicles the lives of women who are married to or in most cases divorced, separated, or otherwise presently/formerly copulating with NBA players.  We watch them argue, back bite, and generally go at it for an hour each week, with no clear path for redemption , growth, or other identified higher purpose.  The show more or less plays like a post-post-adolescent mean girls, but yet I really dig it.

The intellectual in me realizes that this show is fraught with problematic images for minority women, and for that matter women in  general.  The characters are petty, superficial, and oft-times morally debased.  Nevertheless, it provides a  perverse and painful adrenaline rush, somewhat akin to popping a pre-date zit.

I’ve said only half in jest that Basketball Wives is the only sports that I’ll willingly watch.The recently aired reunion specials had all the spectacle of a championship basketball game with better shoes. There was man-to-man defense with little Royce outmatched by the lengthy Boricua show-stopper Evelyn, with host John Salley playing the referee.

Since bedding Cincinnati Bengals Chad Ochocinco on their first date (***clears throat*** 5x) and admitting to sleeping with co-star Tami Roman’s  then husband Kenny Anderson, Evelyn has been catching a lot of shade for being a ho, trash box, alley-cat, or any other synonym one might come up with for a so-called loose woman.

Yet, I find something fascinating about Evelyn.  I kind of admire how she has strategically positioned herself as the show’s archetypal villain; the move shows a unique kind of genius.  All good reality shows need a “bad guy” and on Basketball Wives Evelyn has earned her place among the Natalie Nunns, Omarosas,  New Yorks,  and Jade Coles of reality TV’s past.  She has leveraged her sexuality, fire-sharp tongue, and power over the other women to create her brand.

Mark my words she will leverage this brand into her own reality series, which will more than likely co-star her newly-minted fiancée: none other than  Ochocinco, another reality TV star.    Apparently, ho-dum has its benefits because she is sporting one hell of a rock.  The extent to which the engagement is spectacle or a publicity stunt is anyones guess, but I can appreciate a woman who goes after what she wants.  As  she so rawly put it: who I f**ked and how I f**ked him is none of your motherf**king business.”

I mean even considering that she has exposed her life to the cameras of a national reality show, she still has a point.  It amazes me that a American’s still maintain highfalutin airs around this sort of artificial puritanical sexuality, which is ironically set against the back drop of a culture driven by an orgie of sex, commerce, and power. For all intensive purposes, Evelyn is operating within a culture that values and rewards beauty, and in which  sex can be more than marketed.

Sex has become entrepreneurial.

I’ll miss Basketball Wives until next season, but I’m waiting with bated breath for Evelyn and Ochocinco: Married to the Green.  It will be as artificial as Astroturf but it will be entertaining.   Sports, sex, and entertainment; it’s the American way.

So what do you think?  Anyone else out there willing to admit they are on #teamevelyn? Is Shani O’neal wrong for promoting these characterizations of black and minority women to enrich herself?  Does anyone view Evelyn’s moves as empowering rather than classless?

I’m a Black Girl and I am not Broken


I am many things.   Among them—I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a poet, a writer, and  a lover of love and admirer of creation. I am a person of deep faith, a survivor, and a brave bird.  But for all the things that I  am—both good and bad—there is one thing I am not:

I am in no way and by no measure broken.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’ve been all up and through some hurt, but I am increasingly more intentional about emerging from those experiences stronger and more definite in my purpose.  I am grateful to the universe for every door that opens for me and even more gratified for the wisdom to know which one to walk through.

I guess this is why I am troubled by a representation I see in the larger culture: Black women as “inherently broken”.  These representations are adopted wholesale and perhaps more damaging internalized, when they should be interrogated, and even outrightly refuted.  Hence, this post emerged after a misguided attempt to garner my affections. The unrelenting pursuant diagnosed my disinterest, as follows:

“I’m saying bay [urban colloquialism for the term of endearment baby] I’m perceptive but even a simpleton could see you’re going though an internal struggle based on previous trauma…..[it continued] Bay don’t be scared to take assistance while moving on…Those chains aren’t  going to protect u nor make u whole…”

Delivery aside, the notion put forth in this ghetto soliloquy shook me to my core.  Nothing about our interactions up and until this point had communicated either directly or indirectly anything about my past or any pain that was a part of it.  I can say this with confidence because our conversations had been limited to text messaging—clearly not a communication medium optimal for real human connections.  I can also tell you as a matter of fact that this person was by no means perceptive or intuitive.  He was not even smart. We had spoken maybe three times in life.  What I see is that he had clearly ingested a narrative of what Black woman are as a collective, and projected this myth on to me—a practical stranger. For this he was unceremoniously dismissed.

Honestly, I did not need to be healed; dinner and a movie would have been enough.

The Broken Black Girl archetype—not unlike the lonely Black girl narrative— is ubiquitous throughout pop-culture.  Our struggle for identity, voice, and healing from the historical remnants of our storied collective experience is one the should emerge from the margins. Yet, I am convinced that the redemptive power of such stories is often lost.  In particular, this plays out in film:   The Color Purple, Waiting To Exhale, Precious, and  For Colored Girls are immediate examples. Each of the creative works tell the story of a Black woman or multiple Black woman in the throes of pain, hurt, anger and general brokenness.  In fact, Tyler Perry has made an empire on capitalizing from the well-worn tales of damaged Black women.  In his work, they are often redeemed by faith, however, the message of redemption is never the dominant narrative in the story arc.  It is the hurt experience of the “damaged” Black woman that is the focus.

It is time we started telling the stories of not only survival, but emergence and optimization.  I want to hear about Black women doing amazing things and living amazing lives on their own terms.  I want to wrap myself in the stories of yes strong black women, another archetype that is getting a bit stale, but more so fully developed women who are vulnerable, talented, smart, funny, and dynamic as the Black women I know.

I’ve lived a lot of life in these near thirty years, but more than bearing the scars of past hurts—I am embodying the power of resilience that manifest  from the downturns in life. I’ve emerged from each hurt experience more wise, and grateful to the universe for trusting me to be a teller of my story and our stories.

I am intentional.  I am courageous.  I am beautiful. I am smart. I am multi-dimensional. I am witty.  I am connected to nature and one with creation.  I am strong and weak.  I am prone to mistakes, but eternally evolving. I am at once grounded, but flying high in the skies.

I am a Black Girl and I am Not Broken.

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