Wonderfully, tragically, a Black woman
I don’t want to discuss the nuances that have accompanied accepting explorative hips that dip
& loving a skin that is my mother’s dirt
& hair that is black sheep thick
I have to clear the table for the euphemistic, black woman
If the world black is utilized to describe my underlying purple hue,
then let black too delineate that black woman is synonymous for silent woman
because when we express in the only way mastered to us, through severed tongues,
our desperate pleas to simply be understood through a perpetual bleeding mouth are translated as our irredeemable angry & temperamental qualities
& then we are told that not even our screams, lest they be white and woman,
by compartmentalizing with the idea that our own resentment doesn’t belong to us & screaming into empty spaces does nothing but remind us of our inadequacies
our voices are minimized to “amens” & “mhms” closest to the pool pit
how to inherit #blackgirlmagic when there’s yet to be an emancipation of the Black Silent Woman?
how can we teach each other to love & to be confident in what we are without first addressing the centuries long defamation on who we are & the traumas we carry stuck between our teeth?