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@user7753018281506: في ناس تخسرهم... وتكسب نفسك ❤️ اخسر الدنيا كلها ولا تخسر ذاتك لأنك لو خسرت نفسك محد بيعوضك #لا_تخسر_نفسك #تقدير_الذات #كلام_يوجع #fyp #اكسبلور

امجد الهادي
امجد الهادي
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Tuesday 18 August 2026 23:24:08 GMT
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user9714706122502
مـزآجـᬼ🖤m⑅⃝ـᬼـية❤ :
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2026-08-19 10:22:56
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#fypシ #theoffice #slowdancinginthedark
#fypシ #theoffice #slowdancinginthedark
BETTY, NOT THAT BETTY I was born with rhythm in my teeth. Taste it? Metallic gold + copper + smoke on my tongue. My name is Betty Davis. Not the actress. The other one. The Real one — in spectacular Black. The one they tried to erase in black and white. Beautiful. Bodacious. Brilliant. Beyond. I wrote it. I produced it. I played it. Every note. Every album. Every damn door they tried to slam. Even the ones they banned from this country — I could hear ‘em anyway. They sounded like crimson. Like gasoline poured slow over velvet. Too loud. Too Black. Too woman. Too much honey for their dry mouths. I married lightning once. Miles. Trumpet mouth, midnight eyes, fingers that could make a horn beg. Our house sounded like blue. Cold blue. Jealous blue. We made music and we made war and in between I learned how to hold my own solo while he watched me take it. They said I seduced Jimi. Maybe I did. Maybe we just recognized each other — two comets refusing orbit, burning too close to play it safe. He tasted like purple rain + gasoline on the lips. I tasted like butterscotch + fire in the throat. We didn’t talk. We tuned. We let the feedback do the talking for us. I was the pioneer before the pioneers knew the word. Funk + rock + soul + jazz all in one pot, stirrin’ with both hands and my hips. I was mixing colors before they gave women the faders. Orange guitar dripping down green basslines. Pink vocals sliding over brown drums. I painted sound until the whole room went Technicolor and sweat. Racism said “sit down.” Sexism said “smile more. cross your legs. don’t open.” All the isms tried to dress me. I took off every costume. Put on leather. Put on sheer. Put on Afro. Put on truth dripping down my thighs. They called me too much. I called it the future. I was 1973 walking in 2073 shoes, heels clicking like a metronome on sin. Futuristic, but make it funk. Make it sweat. Make it moan. Make it save you. So say my name right. Betty Davis. Singer. Songwriter. Producer. Architect of sound. The Goddess they didn’t put in the textbooks because she wouldn’t fit in the margins — she spilled over them. I’m not little known. I’m just loudly waiting for the world to catch up to the color I was already singing in. 🖤 I wanted to write about this Black female architect of FUNK “Betty Davis” who is often little known or forgotten. We must hold on to our stories - our books -our artifacts - by any means necessary. It’s my mission as an Afrofuturisticarchivalinformationsciencesynesthete. I do have a passion for creating words. Our own language Isn’t that what the Monsters do???? We’ve always had ours. Peace & Coconut oil grease 🩵🖌️🩵
BETTY, NOT THAT BETTY I was born with rhythm in my teeth. Taste it? Metallic gold + copper + smoke on my tongue. My name is Betty Davis. Not the actress. The other one. The Real one — in spectacular Black. The one they tried to erase in black and white. Beautiful. Bodacious. Brilliant. Beyond. I wrote it. I produced it. I played it. Every note. Every album. Every damn door they tried to slam. Even the ones they banned from this country — I could hear ‘em anyway. They sounded like crimson. Like gasoline poured slow over velvet. Too loud. Too Black. Too woman. Too much honey for their dry mouths. I married lightning once. Miles. Trumpet mouth, midnight eyes, fingers that could make a horn beg. Our house sounded like blue. Cold blue. Jealous blue. We made music and we made war and in between I learned how to hold my own solo while he watched me take it. They said I seduced Jimi. Maybe I did. Maybe we just recognized each other — two comets refusing orbit, burning too close to play it safe. He tasted like purple rain + gasoline on the lips. I tasted like butterscotch + fire in the throat. We didn’t talk. We tuned. We let the feedback do the talking for us. I was the pioneer before the pioneers knew the word. Funk + rock + soul + jazz all in one pot, stirrin’ with both hands and my hips. I was mixing colors before they gave women the faders. Orange guitar dripping down green basslines. Pink vocals sliding over brown drums. I painted sound until the whole room went Technicolor and sweat. Racism said “sit down.” Sexism said “smile more. cross your legs. don’t open.” All the isms tried to dress me. I took off every costume. Put on leather. Put on sheer. Put on Afro. Put on truth dripping down my thighs. They called me too much. I called it the future. I was 1973 walking in 2073 shoes, heels clicking like a metronome on sin. Futuristic, but make it funk. Make it sweat. Make it moan. Make it save you. So say my name right. Betty Davis. Singer. Songwriter. Producer. Architect of sound. The Goddess they didn’t put in the textbooks because she wouldn’t fit in the margins — she spilled over them. I’m not little known. I’m just loudly waiting for the world to catch up to the color I was already singing in. 🖤 I wanted to write about this Black female architect of FUNK “Betty Davis” who is often little known or forgotten. We must hold on to our stories - our books -our artifacts - by any means necessary. It’s my mission as an Afrofuturisticarchivalinformationsciencesynesthete. I do have a passion for creating words. Our own language Isn’t that what the Monsters do???? We’ve always had ours. Peace & Coconut oil grease 🩵🖌️🩵
Utopia
Utopia
ฟินมากค่า😍 @Nie&Ivan @AumAumEvent #เค้กเนเน่ #aumaumevent
ฟินมากค่า😍 @Nie&Ivan @AumAumEvent #เค้กเนเน่ #aumaumevent
#duet with @Bella all moved in
#duet with @Bella all moved in
it's not easy to stay that #shorts #reels #god
it's not easy to stay that #shorts #reels #god

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