What Rihanna did for black girls in the makeup industry should never be taken for granted. Before her most brands only had 3 or 4 shades for black girls. Now we have so many options. I will always love her down, a true icon 🙏🏾
Artists aren’t innovating like they used to; everyone makes the same music. Just reheating nachos and breaking old records. No new genres created no elaborate music videos. I’m sick, what is music
@BigVibezrnn That’s not why it’s because he’s close to surpassing him with the most number ones. But it’s still disrespect and not homage. He’s literally dissed him in songs…he thinks he’s better than michael. And yet he has social media & streaming platforms
@FearedBuck this is NOT homage. he has mocked michael several times.. even putting their names in the same sentence is crazy. dr*ke will NEVER measure up to michael jackson !!!
My older cousin got pregnant at 29 after years of saying she wasn’t sure she even wanted kids. When she finally decided she did, it felt intentional. Thought out. Safe. At 14 weeks she developed intense itching on her hands and feet. She mentioned it at her appointment. The nurse said pregnancy does weird things to skin. She went home with lotion samples. The itching got worse. She couldn’t sleep. She called again. They told her it was probably hormones. At 28 weeks she noticed the baby wasn’t moving as much. At the hospital they found no heartbeat. They called it “one of those unexplained stillbirths.” She drowned in that word. Unexplained. Her marriage didn’t survive the silence that followed. He wanted to try again immediately. She was terrified. They divorced two years later. At 45 she was reading about intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy and felt sick. The symptoms matched exactly. She requested her old labs. Her bile acid levels had been elevated. The result was flagged. No one had followed up. No medication. No monitoring plan. Just lotion. It wasn’t random. It was missed. She spent years thinking her body failed quietly. It turns out it had been asking for help the whole time.
I didn’t call my husband crying.
I called him angry.
It was 11:47 PM. I was sitting on the kitchen floor, laptop open, staring at an email that said my contract wasn’t being renewed. Just like that. Two years of overtime, weekends, skipped holidays — gone in one paragraph.
When he answered, I didn’t even say hello. “I lost my job.”
Silence. Not the awkward kind. The steady kind.
He said, “Okay. I’m coming home.”
He was on a night shift. I told him not to. I said I didn’t want him to risk it. I said I was fine.
He said, “You’re not.”
Twenty minutes later, I heard the door.
He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t start giving solutions. Didn’t say, “You’ll find something better.” Didn’t minimize it.
He just sat on the floor with me.
He ordered food because he knew I hadn’t eaten. He closed my laptop because he knew I’d keep rereading the email. He made a list the next morning not of jobs for me but of bills he could cover alone “for as long as it takes.”
The next week, I found out he had quietly moved money from his personal savings into our joint account.
Not because I asked.
Because he anticipated.
Months later, when I apologized for being “a burden,” he looked genuinely confused.
“We’re married,” he said. “There is no yours and mine when things fall apart. There’s just us.”
That’s when I understood something about marriage.
It’s not about who plans the best anniversary or posts the sweetest captions.
It’s about who sits on the kitchen floor with you when your world collapses.
It’s about who absorbs your panic without adding their own.
It’s about who turns “your problem” into “our plan.”
Marriage isn’t loud.
It’s steady.
And when it’s real, you don’t have to beg someone to show up.
They already grabbed their keys.
In 1946 WWII veteran Maceo Snipes was shot in his back by the KKK the day after he became the first Black person to cast a vote in Taylor County, Georgia.
After he was shot, Mr. Snipes walked three miles to the hospital with his mother. For six hours doctors left him waiting and bleeding. By the time he was seen, he needed a blood transfusion. The doctors said the hospital had no “black blood.” Snipes died two days later.
This is why I will vote in every election. The day I stop voting is the day I stop breathing. #DemsUnited #BlackHistoryWithLana
@RdAtl81611 @jay_dale@TheTrueVanguard What president is my president? Everyone’s clap back is always about another party when I’m not even party affiliated. Please get tf on
@Frank920214@jemelehill@martel122001 Okay but this isn’t one tweet….he does this all the time…….and I think that’s what people are tired of……and if it was anyone else it would be a problem……