ANGRY BLACK WOMAN

I’m not an angry black woman. 

Yeah, I know I look the part

With my big hair and bigger attitude,

And a mouth that’s slick & smart

Lips full of knowledge and magic,

Hips full of passion and static,

The electric intensity of my stare…

But I’m not an angry black woman, 

I promise, I swear 

I’m eclectic and ever-changing, 

Swaying between my past and future,

A melanated moon goddess, waxing and waning,

Trying to create gifts in the present

 

I’m not an angry black woman;

But I do see what you mean. 

Yeah, I raised my voice & changed my tone

But my heightened state isn’t what it seems

When I snap my neck and cut my eyes,

You may see the devil in me

But underneath my sinister guise

is a threatened heart in need of empathy

No, I’m not angry

That’s not quite the word.

Okay, I might be a little bit angry, 

But I still deserve to be heard. 

“Angry” is a very simple label

For a very complex situation

There’s a lot more going on here

Than your trite explanation

I’m an ANXIOUS black woman

I’m an OVERWHELMED black woman

I’m an OVERBURDENED black woman

I’m SCARED, damn it.

I’m already fighting a two-front war with my demons & my depression

I’m doing the best I can for Christ’s sake

I’m not allowed to be this strong,

But I dare not be weak;

Give me a fucking break!

My emotions are not a weakness or deficiency;

They’re signs of my fragile humanity

My expressions may not be the most efficient, 

but at least they deliver honesty

So, maybe the issue isn’t my feelings, 

Maybe it’s just the label

Maybe it’s just an ends to a means

Maybe it’s the only way to shake the table