Just Another Angry Black Woman
My black is beautiful.
I’m not what media perceives me to be as a black woman -
I can’t be loud, I can’t yell. I can’t express myself in the most
passionate and fiercest ways that lie in my heart because well,
I’m not supposed to yell.
I’m not bitter and I’m not angry,
but if this keeps up, I’ll be pretty pissed off and hey,
it won’t be a surprise to them.
I’m just so tired:
Tired of being pretty “for a black girl;”
Tired of having good hair “for a black girl;”
Or wait, the one that gets me: “you look better when your hair is straight.”
Did I ask?
Why does my hair have to be straight
like a white woman’s to be beautiful?
I like my curls, and I like my naps.
My black is beautiful.
Our black is beautiful.
All shades of melanin, all differences, all similarities.
We’re beautiful as a whole and as individuals.
God forbid,
I wear something tight or something a little short
Our hips and our curves, because we fill out an outfit
We’re judged and we’re chastised
I’m not sorry that my dress rides up because
it’s not my fault.
I won’t change who I am to fit your wants.
As a woman, there’s doubts
As black, there’s doubts
Now us black women, there’s doubts beyond measure
and we prove these wrong every time.
Our black is beautiful.
I’m not angry, I’m not bitter.
I’m tired of this fight to prove our worth.
Stop treating us as lesser and maybe we wouldn’t seem so angry.
My black is beautiful,
and you don’t need to see it for me to know it.