Colorism Within the Family and Myself


Photo: Tyra Banks
By Brittney M. Walker

We facetime so he can meet my aunt. Most of my family is still in California so meeting everyone has been a digital experience for the most part.

“What up auntie?”

I introduce him and she says as if she couldn’t stop what was coming out of her mouth, “Does your hair lay down?”

She is referring to his tightly coiled, uncombed, but artsy looking hair. He’s not much into combs or brushes. But it works. It’s his natural, like mine. Like some stranger man said one day in the local Chinese food spot, we match.

We both react with snuffs, disguised as laughs, and I retort, “Mine doesn’t.”

She says, “Oh, well I guess not.”

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That Abortion I Had. 10 Years Later...


By Brittney M. Walker

We are both in college, on track to be the first in both of our families to graduate. We are both virgins. We are both diligent church-going Christians. We both loved each other, but I never admitted this while we were together. I wanted to wait until we were married to have sex. But it was too tempting, sleeping together in the same bed sometimes. We both had cars and this new found freedom as adults. No parents around to tell us no. We spent days and nights together. We knew we were going to be forever. First loves.

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Let's Talk About Rape, Some More.



By Brittney M. Walker

I had been raped.

Why did men easily use that word? Why were they so quick to apologize about it? They didn't do it. But why were women so brash? Why did they seem so dispassionate? Why did many of them blame me for what had happened. "Be careful out there, it's best not to use drugs." Passive aggressive chastisement. I knew I was ingesting something that would reduce my inhibitions. I also knew I could trust him. 

Lets Talk About Rape, Baby

By Brittney M. Walker

He raped me.
Well, I was under the influence. Plus, I was being extremely flirtatious.
But he was sober. Older. Much older. Married. Has three nearly grown kids.
I took off my panties in the back seat of the car, though.
It was an invitation. An invitation.
He's a man. Why would he refuse it?
But I wasn't myself. I was high. Higher than I've ever been.
He drugged me.
I asked for it.
He took pictures of my vagina.
He said I told him to.
I performed oral sex on him.
He said I demanded it.
I trusted him.

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Why I Ain't A Christian No More


By Brittney M. Walker

The deacons are passing around Communion cups, the prepackaged ones with the non-alcoholic wine shots and Styrofoam crackers attached to the top protected with a cellophane wrapping. I am sweating a little in my armpits, nervous about what she’ll say when she notices that I don’t take one. For several Communion Sundays I had been purposely sitting out of her eye sight so she wouldn’t see I’ve been skipping it for the last few months.

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