Natural hair on my head writhing like snakes

Skin rich with melanin, with fine, arched brows

Thick lips quick to pout, expression quick to scowl

The face of an angry black woman

 

But that is merely the surface of me

Hiding a person beyond the label

A personality, a racist fable

The mask of an angry black woman

 

 Dark scowl, and dark skin are protective

one from society and one from the sun

a strong deterrent, but not an infallible one

the illusion of the angry black woman

 

Past my anger is the joy of living.

Past the skin, a person; past the scowl, a name.

Invisible, with only myself to blame

The dichotomy of the angry black woman.

 

My loud antics hide my pain

At the realization that I’m trapped

A maze of my own creation

Contributing to a racist nation

Voice so loud

Fingers Z-snapped

Forever the angry black woman.