Black Girl Magic

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Zakiya Jackson

Zakiya Jackson

Zakiya is a lover of words—and creatively uses them by entertaining and compelling her friends and family or even strangers.Like a salmon swimming upstream, Zakiya recently returned to Washington D.C where she works in advocacy and development.Zakiya places high value on faith, racial , love, Anthony Hamilton and laughter.Fancy, woke and southern, she’s generally passionate about being alive.She prefers singing in the keys of E or D or whatever second sopranos sing. Message tees & Bryan Stevenson are everything.
Zakiya Jackson

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#BlackGirlMagic was originated by Auntie Peebz. I’ve been using the the phrase and hashtag and I want to share what I mean by it.


When I say that Black Girls are Magic, I mean that we are sparkly and full of wonder and beauty and admirable qualities. We are inspiring and hopeful and magnificently cool.

I do not mean that we are exotic and the other.  Stop doing that to us.

We are also not commodities. We cannot be produced to scale as any mate so chooses.

We are much fancier than that, we can’t be so easily spokane for.

We are diverse. We cannot fit in a box. We defy colorism in our magic. We defy sexism. We defy racism.

We are the African disapora of melodies and flavors and rhythms and desires and hair and tastes.

We live the ish out of our intersectionality.

We hold hands and laugh together and defend each other and hold each other up strong. We do not, in our magic, abuse each other.

We baptize our people in how to love while surviving. (Malcolm London thank you).

Alls our lives we’ve had to fight.

We overcome. Some of us are colored girls who have considered suicide but discovered that rainbows are enuf.

When I say that girls are magic, I do not mean that we are magic Negros.

Nope. Not here for it.

If you shoot us with bullets, we will bleed out and die. We do not need 137 shots for you to make sure we are really dead. We don’t need 14. You can shoot us dead with 1 bullet.

We are not invincible. We can be destroyed. Some of us are dead woman walking because of all the metaphysical bullets lodged into our hearts and minds and spirits. You’ve successfully convinced some of us consciously and subconsciously to hate ourselves.

You’ve successfully raped some of us from our magic.

I hate to see a sista down.

When I say that Black girls are magic, I mean that we still rise.

We are phenomenal women.

We see you cower just cause we woke up like this.

That’s tired. We wish you would just do you.

It’s not our fault that you won’t accept your own magic and instead reach for false senses of security wrapped in the  highs you get off of holding us down. Those are fake pleasures and make you more and more desperate more and more needy.

Make you cheat on the you you thought you knew.

You don’t.

I wish you could embrace that ain’t nothing like the real thing.  Your highest high can be found in self actualization and to your purpose NOT in making sure we don’t make you look bad.

We’re not frontin’ you like that anyways. We’re trying to hold our own.

We don’t have much time for hate. It takes up too much energy.

When I say that Black women are magic.

I’m reclaiming our truth.

We are magic.

We work. For ourselves, our families, for justice.

We werk.  Day or night, home or away, we are everything and everything is us.

We twerk. Some of us. 😉 We reject respectability politics.


We are not too loud. We sound just right.

We are not too angry. You are not angry enough.

We are not perfect.  Our magic doesn’t make everything right.

We are wounded soldiers at times. This world hurts us. We have always survived. We are learning to care for ourselves. We are fighting for our lives.

(Which requires naps, hot baths, sistafriend time, skip you cards and chocolate.)

We are magic. We won’t stop.

Because Audre Lorde. Because Assata Shakur. Because Coretta Scott King. Because Nina Simone. Because Ava DuVernay. Because Bree Newsome.

Because our mothers and grandmothers because our ancestors.

We only have our chains to lose.

We are magic.