The sky opened and women
A kaleidoscope of femininity
Rained down into me
Reflections of the world’s intent
To push us into invisibility
Black women pushing back
Seeing and being Seen
I know the struggle of being black, of being female, of being American, of being mediocre.
But I refuse to let what I know
Define me Direct me Reduce me Immobilize me
I refuse to spend my years toiling to release myself from the captivity of the African-American women’s forced status quo.
We live within that hyphen
Yet it cannot contain Us constrain Us
We are strength. We are compassion. We are brilliance.
We are the bodies that carry
The Greatness that would not die in chains
I am a Black Woman
Who loves and loves and loves again
I love rocking chairs, spa days, tree-lined paths, sweet music, the color blue and a storm as long as it’s not within me.
I love family, my granddaughter, the father that fathers her, the mother that mothers her and Lord knows I love my husband.
I love stretching my body long and lean as my eyes are opening in the morning.
I love raising my arms straight over my head then leaning down to touch my toes.
I love lying on the sofa with the Christmas tree lit up in greens, and reds, and whites, listening to the crackling fire, that sweet smell of wood and heat tingling my senses.
I love finding a place to be alone in the restorative niche that introversion insists upon.
I love just the right rhythm to just the right word when it turns the line in the direction my story wants to go.
I love writing myself out of resistance.
I love living this family life even when I have to hold my tongue and my temper because sometimes I don’t like every little thing somebody says or does—fails to say or do.
I love swift emotional resilience, bouncing back from disappointment, discouragement, disillusionment, and failure. Unscathed. Unfazed.
I love God and the truth that he gave his Son that I might live on, even when I am gone from here.
I love Being A Black Woman
The Sisterhood of
Being A Black Woman