She Was Promiscuous Not A Whore

They say I’m a whore, I’m at risk, I’m angry, crazy, and many other negative things. No one stops to look at me and tell me I’m anything different. So I adopt the beliefs and start to believe the same thing. I’m not worth saving. Only worth being shunned and talked about. Made to believe my beauty comes from how much skin I show. They say I’m worthless. That I should have been raised better. However, my mother comes from every form of abuse and told the same negative things they told me. Generational curses are the only thing I’ve accomplished. So what am I to do? Therefore I keep living in my pain. Continue my promiscuous ways, allow any man who gives me a wink to have access to me. Fall prey to the dangers of sex, drugs, and abuse. There goes another “at-risk youth” becoming the statistical failure they projected from my test scores back in elementary school. So I became what you expected. I guess that’s just how this generational curse thing works. In my community, they call girls like me fast. So I guess I’m a FastTell Girl.

What is a little black girl to do when being sexualized is the norm? Turn sexual abuse into love and put the blame only on her. Whips aligned on her back from being beaten for uttering a word. So she becomes mute. Words can only formulate in her head but nothing comes out. They try to get her to draw what happened but it’s too late. She’s been told what happened was a lie so many times she gets used to protecting the abuser. So when she sees the same man creeping into her little sister’s bed, what is she to do? To think that hurt is love and the only right she has is to let a man enter and abuse her. 

She gets a little older and starts seeing her curves come in. Never has had real sex with a man. Only forced against her will. But since little momma has a little shape to her they assume she has been sexually active. No one believes she is a good girl so she becomes what they’ve spoken over her. Little boys recording her without her consent. She thinks it’s cute to get all this attention from men. Realizes older men will pay for what she gives out for free. Now you have a little girl who still looks like a baby carrying a 40year old pervert’s seed. 

You see her story will have many in tears cause she wasn’t able to be saved. Taking drugs every day to numb her pain. One day she looks at herself in that motel mirror and sees there’s blood coming down her leg religiously. She lost hope in something loving her the way she needed. So she ran away from her pain to a new city. Maybe here she will heal. But the thought of every man who entered her swarming her mind, death is seeming like the prize. So pills are in her hand as she drinks. Another old man lies on a hotel bed screaming for her to come back. She snaps and sees the same little girl who became mute due to her abuse and ends it all. She was never a whore, at risk, angry, crazy, or any of those negative things. She was you, and me if we weren’t ever given the chance to speak. 

FasTell Girl Model2Mentor is a federally recognized 501c3 nonprofit organization. They provide programs and skills training in behavioral/emotional management, lifestyle, and auxiliary academic advice to at-risk adolescent girls and young adult women in Dallas, Texas and surrounding areas. Their goal is to identify and partner with adolescent girls and young adult women who are on the path of a destructive transition into adulthood and influence overall healthy well-being in their clients’ lives. They accomplish this by equipping them with proven results-driven behavior and life skills that support their creativity and encourage self-confidence, pro-social relationships, academic, and personal development to reassert a sense of hope for their future. Interested in helping? Please get involved today by becoming an intern (available for both high school and college students), sending a donation, or becoming a partner!


Click the link below for more information or inquire on the contact me page…

https://fastellgirl.org/

Gracias por leer mi amors

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