Bone Black: Part One.

bell hooks and i may be kindred spirits. at least that's what i'd like to think. reading bone black: memories of girlhood makes me think a lot about myself and my journey in life. i dont quite fit in my family just like she didnt when she was younger. there are a lot of parallels there. i'm no bell hooks, she's quite accomplished and definitely a woman to be revered. i only pray that i sprout into someone like her.

the book though, i'm only halfway through but i never ever want to put it down. i want to sit and have a conversation with the woman writing the book as she writes it or i would have liked to be there with her when the specific events happened as they happened reassuring her that i felt the same exact way when my grandmama, who also dips and spits, comes to visit and asks me to bring her spitoon to her and how quickly i also want to be rid of them when she leaves or how my mother's mother used to make us tea cakes and milk and how i also loved those times. but mainly i want to talk to her about how sometimes i, too, feel like i just dont fit.

i want to tell her that i know about hot combs, grease, and that feeling that you've grown up when you can finally get your hair straightened.
i want to tell her that i love to read too and that i wish she'd give me a list of all the best books so i can read what she's read.
i want to tell her that i dont want to get married either. its just not for me.
i want to ask her how she makes her writing read like poetry and if she can tutor me so that i can write just as well as she does or at least say she tutored.
i want to let her know that i think lies are like bombs too but that in my family, my father's not the one that keeps them from exploding.