Black. Woman.

Black. Woman.




As much Susan B. Anthony as we are Sojourner Truth

Got enough fight in our bellies to birth a whole nation.

Got enough love in our hearts to continue.


This is for the black girl magic that runs through our veins.

Houdini has nothing on your mother, who can open an empty fridge

And abracadabra some breakfast

Alkazam some dinner

And will bibbidi-bobbidi-bop you ass on the back your head for not saying grace.

And here you were thinking that black magic was supernatural being used for evil.

I mean, don’t tempt us.


To the black woman who finds more comfort in literature than they do in people.

The stroll leisurely through bounded books

Crept in cramp corners

Collecting stories and lovers

And hoping to find someone is somewhere

Who is as captivating as the characters

Remember you are Where the Wild Things Are

The Reason The Caged Bird Sings

The Bridge to Terabithia

The Color Purple

The Alchemist

And no story is as valuable as the way you live your life.


To the dapper black woman

You are just as regal in your bowties and you would be in your ball gown.

You suspend stereotypes with your suspenders

Strut with your loafers

You are the topic of the Christian family dinners

Because androgyny isn’t found in the bible but blasphemy is

Eat up. Dont let you food nor your heart get cold.

To that black woman.

Choose comfort. Choose style. Choose you.


To the darker Black Woman.

You are so ethereal.

Celestial human beings.

You are love.

You are peace.

You are the closest thing to angels.

Your skin isn’t just dark, it’s rich.

It’s satin.

It’s velvet.

It’s the fabric to our lives.

It’s shimmers.

It glistens.

It sparkes.

God you dark women are so beautiful.

I swear I love you.

“Drunk in love Beyonce kicks”

Completely unbothered.


To the black woman

Assigned male at birth.

Trying to figure a way out the body you worn born into

Who tries swallows the stares of strangers but it gets stuck

Stuck like the Adam’s apple in your throat

Stuck like the moment you have to decide which bathroom to pee in

Stuck between squatting and standing.

I love you.

I refuse to let people

Pick apart your preferred pronouns.

Your Lives Matter.

Lamia Beard.

Ty Underwood.

I’ll remember you.’

I’ll tell your narratives.

I am sorry.

That the lives you lead.

Gets boiled down to some

Drag queen, she-male freak show.

You matter.

Your life matters.

I love you.


To the black woman.

To the bigger black woman.

To my size 16 ladies.

You don’t have to stuff yourself into

Society perception’s.

You aren’t second best.

Don’t settle for a some half assed compliment

“You have such a pretty face”

“I like your hair cut”

“Black is so slimming on you”

Force them to look down.

To look at you.

Yes, you can choose to take up as much space as you want

And no you don’t owe anyone any explanation.


To my black woman.

We live in a disabling society.

You aren’t disabled.


To the black woman.

You don’t talk white.

You talk green.

You talk money.

Some people don’t understand.


To the black woman.

We’re passionate.

We not always angry.

But sometimes we are.


We can be angry.


To the black woman.

Strong isn’t always safe.

We don’t always have to be stoic.

We don’t have to stifle your smile.

We don’t have to be the mule.

Yes its okay to get help.

Yes its okay to break down.

Yes it okay to take time.

Seek counseling.


Demand that other people sacrifice as much as you do.

Yes you deserve to be pampered.

I know too often we taught that only way to survive is to struggle.

Failure to acknowledge stress. anxiety. pain.

Doesn’t erase stress. anxiety. pain.

To that black woman.

Listen to me.

It’s okay.

To just be.


To those black women.

I am you.

I am me.

We are free.

This poem is about: 
My community


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