Tiffany D Jackson Quotes

Well, sometimes the people we love the most can hurt us the most.

Rumors are born with legs that can run a mile in less than a minute. Rumors eat up dreams without condiments. Rumors do not have expiration dates. Rumors can be deadly. Rumors can get you killed.

So remember, Sweet Pea, just 'cause someone got a roof, don't make it a home" -Janet (Ma)

If Monday were a color, she'd be red. Crisp, striking, vivid you couldn't miss her - a bull's-eye in the room, a crackling flame. I saw so much red that it blinded me to any flags" -Claudia

What a woman wears or doesn’t wear doesn’t give anyone the right to touch them. Well, you know he’s had a rough childhood. Abandoned by his mom, didn’t know his father, raised by his grandma who passed. We’ve all BEEN through a lot but that don’t give you no excuse to abuse girls.

I know what you’re thinking. How can a whole person, a kid, disappear and no one say a word? Like if the sun just up and left one day, you’d think someone would sound an alarm, right? But Ma used to say, not everyone circles the same sun. I never knew what she meant by that until Monday went missing.

There is a calm in the chaos that most folks don’t see.

Hard to celebrate the day you were born when everybody seems to wish you were never born at all.

Like the color pink, someone always sees the story different. Some see rose and magenta, and other see coral and salmon. When at the end of the day, it’s just regular old pink.

This is the story of how my best friend disappeared. How nobody noticed she was gone except me. And how nobody cared until they found her . . . one year later.

Our daughter was stalked, preyed upon, and assaulted by a grown man. This is when we need our village the most.

Yusef, ‘I have anxiety’ is a full and complete statement. I don’t have to explain the what and why to you!

You, my child, were created in a hurricane, leaving destruction in your wake. You, as they say, are a storm with skin. Death and rebirth will follow you everywhere. How can one man who knows nothing of the weight of blood tame you? For wherever you go, there you are.

When people feel insecure, they create a grand self-image in an attempt to compensate for what is lacking internally. They present this façade to the world in order to hide the emptiness they feel, thus falling in love with the idea of themselves. But, if you threaten their self-image—threaten to expose the thing they love most, themselves—they will react, often in a hostile manner.

Monday worried she'd know about my problem if I got too close to her. But when you're always cold, it's easy to be drawn to the sun" -Claudia

Become so drunk on life and love that it blinds you to the hate threatening to drown you. Chew on grief for breakfast, devour aches for lunch, inhale life’s acid, let it burn the costume he has forced upon you.

What yuh may or may not’ve done is not di definition of who yuh really are.

But you’re my mess. I rather have this mess every day than not at all.

Yo, Malcolm X said it best. “The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.

In this life, you don’t always get what you want, but you must dance through it,

Your bloodline was marinated in rage.

But when help isn't invited, it ain't nothing but an unwanted houseguest.

Trying to reclaim your life is a lot like drowning. You attempt to stay above water as waves of new information hit you sideways, carrying you further into the unknown. People throw life preservers, but the ropes can only reach so far, and once a riptide catches you by the ankle, all you can do is wonder why you ever thought you’d be OK jumping into the deep end, when you could barely manage the shallows.

You only get one shot at your kids, so you need to hit the bull’s-eye.

Most of my life, no one has bothered to explain anything to me. It’s been one “’cause I said so” scenario after another.

Everyone doesn't circle the same sun.

Springville was also the type of town where racism was passed down like family jewels.

When you have kids, what is one thing you'd do different than your parents?" "I'd love them for who they are. Not who I want them to be.

Geometric and psychedelic shapes, mosaics, and mandalas...There is a certain calm in the chaos that most folks don't see" -Claudia

I'm so sorry, Daddy." None of this is your fault. Not one drop of it. No child should ever take the blame for a man's actions.

What does it mean when you love and hate someone at the same time?” I ask. He laughs. “It means they family.

Someone told me when you go to college, your life gets better. And you can escape what you were before and find who you’re supposed to be,

Something blooms inside my chest and I rip it at the root.

She went into crisis management mode, much like the adult she has been forced to be for most of her life, continuing to hide and protect her mother, because in Mary’s mind she is the mother, and her mother is the child. And a mother always protects her child.

That’s the thing about finding the right person to love. When someone loves you, all their hang-ups don’t really mean much. Because loving that person is a choice you have to make every day, even when that day isn’t what you expect.

But Ma says everyone deserves forgiveness. That's why if Ma was a color, she'd be pink with her sweetness. A tender flower, a bubbly pop of chewing gum, two scoops of strawberry ice cream. Silly in her girly ways, her color deepens with love, until she glows fuchsia - bright and bold, unstoppable. But when she is not fed the riches that life promises, Ma pales, reaming but a tint above white, a color aching in want." -Claudia

If Daddy was a color, he would be a forest green—thick, lush, calm, whispering refreshing wisdom only few could hear. If Michael was a color, he would be bark brown—cocoa, mocha, chocolate, the color of earth. Quiet, supportive, but strong. A softness that love grows from. Together, they are the tree I lean on when I’m weary. The tree I swing from. The tree of life when surrounded by death.

She took hold of her life, didn’t care what anyone else had to think or say.

She didn't see the thorns sticking out of her sweet actions. Not like I did" -Claudia

And then my whole universe had opened up and he became my sun.

You ever smell a newborn? It's so different...just new. They're like these tiny, brand-new humans that don't know who you are, or what you've done, or anything. But they love you anyways.

If Mrs. Charles were a color, she'd be yellow - bright, cheerful, golden rays of sunshine. A ripe banana, a fresh highlighter, sweet like pineapples, tart like lemons, you could lose her in a field of dandelions. One drop of her coloring could turn plain buttercream frosting into the sweetest Easter cake. But one drop of another color could spoil her brightness. Leave her out in the heat too long and her banana peel would start to rot. The tip of her highlighter blackens with wear. The prickling of her pineapple skin sometimes leaves her impossible to open. And dandelions are nothing but pretty weeds." -Claudia

How can a whole person, a kid, disappear and no one say a word? Like, if the sun just up and left one day, you'd think someone would sound an alarm, right? But Ma used to say, not everyone circles the same sun. I never knew what she meant by that until Monday went missing" -Claudia

With Monday humming along.

I think it boils down to one question: who’s really responsible for your well-being—your family, the government, or your community?

Fish die quick in a tank, Daddy said. We needed room, to flourish, to grow, to go to college, to dive deep and go where they never could.

Comprehension is key, and that hasn’t exactly been mastered by the citizens of this country.

Mondays are the best days! Like, aren’t you excited about the start of a new week? It’s like a new chapter in a book.

Rumors are born with legs that can run a mile in less than a minute. Rumors eat up dreams without condiments. Rumors do not have expiration dates. Rumors can be deadly. Rumors can get you killed.

People throw life preservers, but the ropes can only reach so far, and once a riptide catches you by the ankle, all you can do is wonder why you ever thought you’d be OK jumping into the deep end, when you could barely manage the shallows.

I love the dusty particles a fresh colored pencil leaves behind with the first stroke, the sound it makes kissing the page when I'm done filling in voids. That first spot of rich color on a crisp white page, the start of something new." -Claudia

I suddenly miss the smells and tight quarters of my house. Burning sage, roasting rosemary, and Daddy’s aftershave. I even miss sharing a room with Shea. But I can’t go back home. Parents probably wouldn’t let me through the front door. The only place left for me is with Korey. Plus, he loves me. He needs me. Love is complicated.

But you did save her, Claudia! You saved her from that house for years and you didn't even know it.

I'd kill for something, anything new to read. But I'd never say anything like that at all. Figures of speech are luxurious convicted murders are not allowed to have

It’s like, unless we had proof, people wouldn’t believe the fucked-up shit we went through. I just didn’t think I would catch something happening so soon.

But love ain’t no fairy tale, ain’t no Disney movie. Love . . . REAL love . . . is complicated. It’s hard. It’s gonna hurt some days. Then some days it’s not.

Buddy growls, and I quickly grip his mouth to keep him quiet. But it's too late. The house stills. The house heard us.

This is what you’re not allowed to see. The school system pulled this out of the curriculum. Parents complained it was ‘too disturbing.’ Probably worried

No one stops in Springville except ghosts.

Maybe it’s her way of holding on to... something. After losing so much.

Music got a funny way of reminding you of what you thought you lost.

In my past life, I was a mermaid. I lived deep in the ocean, swimming free, eating crustaceans, and singing five-octave ballads. My notes caused ripples in the sea-whales, turtles, and seahorses alike gathered for my daily concerts. But on land, I struggle to breathe. Humans don't understand my pescatarian diet, and singing is a concept, not an aspiration." - Enchanted

Your bloodline was marinated in rage. There will be pain in carrying this dark secret. A pain you must endure for others and for yourself. This sickly power you hold without hands will eventually burn until you no longer can hide it. You must learn to control it. Or it will control you. But be not a doormat. You can ease the pain by leaving all that you know. Become so drunk on life and love that it blinds you to the hate threatening to drown you. Chew on grief for breakfast, devour aches for lunch, inhale life’s acid, let it burn the costume he has forced upon you.

No matter what she did, she could never escape being her father’s greatest mistake. A mistake carved in her features, painted on her skin, knitted in her hair. She would never be good enough or white enough. For him. For the kids at school. For the women in the photos plastered on her closet walls. She hated them.

your heart is nothing but a muscle. It contracts and expands, working just as hard as any other muscle. The difference is, the blood pumping through it pumps through your entire body. That blood holds memories. Things you try to forget but it won’t let you. You have to use those memories, use that blood to fuel you.

That’s the only advice Momma ever really gave me. Keep praying. God will work everything out. It never occurred to her that maybe she should try to work some things out for herself. Sometimes I wanted to shout, “God’s a little busy, Momma! He can’t find your keys for you all the time!” She was always lazy like that, expecting everyone else to everything for her. God and I share the same problem.

You’re also pushing this so you can look like the perfect little ‘white ally,’ thinking that’s gonna make my brother stay with you as he rises to the top. You trying to look like you were always down, the woke bae we invite to the barbecue. This whole charade is all about you!

There will be pain in carrying this dark secret. A pain you must endure for others and for yourself. This sickly power you hold without hands will eventually burn until you no longer can hide it. You must learn to control it. Or it will control you. But be not a doormat. You can ease the pain by leaving all that you know.

And I would counter if racism is ever truly fair? There are always consequences, both seen and unseen. In fact, I gather it’s one of the reasons the state worked so hard to brush this under the rug. Because if people knew revenge of this magnitude was even a remote possibility, there would be far less incidents of racial injustice in the world.

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You can try all you want to control the wild sea, but in the end, it'll always do what it wants.

why do you keep trying to punish yourself just because you made a mistake? thats the opposite of what anyone who cares about you would want you to do

A true southerner, she never felt safe in the city.

A terrible sadness filled her stomach, the aching hunger for well-lived life.

Being a chronic unwanted guest can really suck.

I mean, maybe it wasn't so crazy after all. Maybe just thinking outside the box is how you get further than you ever could dream of.

Headline: Three Kids From Brooklyn Pull Off The Biggest Heist In Hip Hop History.

There’s a sadness in his eyes, something left unsaid between his words.

One thing about Gab: she has her life figured out and is fearless about it. I so badly wanted to tell her I had good news of my own.

Tammi, my only job was to love you. You telling me I didn't do that? You talking about jobs, what was your job supposed to be?

I'm focusing on his feet because if I look up into his eyes I know, I just know I'll kiss him. His lips graze my forehead, and my whole body shivers.

So I grab his shirt, pull him close, and kiss him. I kiss my messy, forgetful, sill-ass ex-boyfriend. And as we hover over the water, I forget the world as he kisses me back.

Maddy picked up her silver paddle brush. Forty strokes every night kept the naps away, Papa always said.

Trust me.

What a woman wears or doesn’t wear doesn’t give anyone the right to touch them.

His friends were bullies. Racist, asshole bullies, which made him just as much of an asshole.

Who cares if he was the only Black guy in their crew? They never treated him different. They didn’t see color.

We catch eyes, nervously blinking away. Looks like we both need that job more than we'd like to admit. The blackout brought us back together––will the Apollo internship rip us apart?

But the kitchen made her happy, and her father loved her cooking—the only thing about her that he did love. She glanced at the minuscule leftovers on the stove, after he’d gone back for thirds.

Kim and Foxy took all the shit that Negros throw at us—calling us bitches, hoes, I pay your bills, blah blah blah—and started using it on themselves. It’s like they took men’s weapons and used it against them. ’Cause once you let someone know they weak-ass words can’t hurt you, that you don’t need them, that you got your own, they no longer have any power over you. And you can be, do, say whatever you want.

Everyone in the house knows what I did. Or thinks they know what I did. No one asks though because no one really wants to hear how I killed a baby. They don’t even want to know why I killed a baby. They just want to pretend they know for knowing’s sake.

Ma always drove me to school on the first day, taking off a few hours from the veterans’ canteen. They’d miss her for sure, leaving their kitchen a mess without her running it, but she always says, “You only get one shot at your kids, so you need to hit the bull’s eye.

everyone would want to talk to him about Maddy, but he had to remain unfazed, the same composure he kept whenever anything happened to Black people and they wanted unsaid permission from him to speak about it freely. Because if Kenny was okay with it, then it must be okay.

Understand, there’s a big difference between baby jail and juvie, where the rest of the girls in the house come from. Juvie is for badass kids who do stuff like rob bodegas, steal cars, maybe stupidly try to kill someone. Baby jail is for kids who’ve done way worse, like me.

I hold one of his hands in both of mine and draw him in, closer. 'Kareem,' I plead softly. 'Please. Let's go.' Kareem blinks away from the man, eyes landing on me. In that moment, we are us again. Words said through the simplest look. And though it's unfair to my already confused heart, it's the only way to keep him focused on me.

Korey is twenty-eight. I’m seventeen. That’s only . . . an eleven-year difference. When I’m eighteen, he’ll be twenty-nine. Gabriela is three years younger than Jay. Kylie Jenner was eight years younger than Tyga. Beyoncé was eighteen when she met thirty-year-old Jay-Z. Mom is seven years younger than Daddy. It’s not that uncommon.

He leans his forehead on my bare shin and breathes in. I stare at the top of his head, heart pounding. Aching to move, to run from his touch but desperate to stay in the dark with him like this ... forever. He turns his head, letting his cheek rest against my leg. 'What happened to us?' He whispers. And for the first time, I'm not entirely sure.

If I was a color, I would be white, vast in my blankness. Pure, whole, virginal, predictable. Boring. The colors thrown at me didn't bleed into my canvas and leave a mark. The colors washed out with nothing but water. That's what made this story so hard to remember. It's hard facing a mirror and seeing all you are made of and all you couldn't absorb.

Cause no matter what you do, you can't outgrow, out-lie, out-perform, out-play, out-run or, out-joke being different. And after a while it starts hurting like in your chest, being something you not. The older you get and the more you learn just how different you really are, you get tired of trying to blend in. You get lonely, even when you surrounded by people

He closes the distance between us, grabbing my hands. 'You know me,' he says. 'I ain't good with words and shit. That was your job! But I'm talking now. Is it too late?' He leans down, resting his forehead on mine. I hold my breath as a voice inside me says, He's right, I do know him! I know him more than I know myself. 'Is it too late?' he asks again, inching toward my lips, and the world starts spinning faster.