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The angry black woman

She stood with her back turned to me Leaning slightly towards where the light tapered off into darkness Her faced buried deep inside her cupped hands Her own shadow towered over her seemingly at odds with her as well I wanted to see if her face bore the telltale signs of the inherent aggression she was infamous for Though I had no desire to replace her as the recipient of centuries of scorn and ridicule, I was curious about her nature She haunts the dreams of all black women, myself included, leaving us tongue tied and paralyzed with fear, in case of guilt by association Most take delight in her crucifixion even her own kind will gladly lend a hand on the day of her public stoning The black men step over her worn out carcass that they suckled dry and turn a blind eye to her pain, adding on to her humiliation They are often first in line, jostling to rip off her glorious crown from her head to lay it at the foot of another I raised my voice to her and said "do you ever do anything else aside from being a servant carrying heavy loads on your head, with fatherless babies tied to your back latching onto your breast, that nourished kings and queens who now spit at the mention of your name and tarnish your honour with slander? Have you no pride angry black woman? Why can't you be delicate, delightful and carry a sweet disposition with you like a fancy pocket book, angry black woman?" Her lack of response spurred me on so I went on to add "you led shame into our midst with your hollering and lashing out Not forgetting your crass voice that no one cares to hear " I was on a roll so I got cheeky enough to ask "will you not turn around and face the day of your reckoning now that its finally here, angry black woman?" And that's when she slowly turned around to face me, as I readied myself to rain my unbridled disapproval on her That's when I noticed how her shoulders were slumped forward while her head hang low she looked worn out as she stood there before me her face still cradled in her hands Her gnarled hands slipped off her face slowly and dangled limply by her sides in defeat Thus revealing eyes sunken and glassy from years of piled on unconsoled grief Sorrow had left its mark on her precious face over the years It was a face well known to me and dearest to my heart that was before me, as my jaw hit the floor in shock She wore the face of all the mothers, great grandmothers, grandmothers, sisters, cousins, aunties and nieces that I've ever had, in my lifetime Women who represented the divine feminine in my eyes I fell to the ground on my knees, regret choking me as I began to remember, my head weighed down by shame Her anger has never been more than anyone else's really, come to think of it This I knew because I've witnessed different scenarios unfold where she'd had to bite her tongue back near enough to choke on it At times she's needed anger's flame as a means of defense and even to assert healthy boundaries She has generously given her best to a world where her worth is never seen And donated part of her soul when she had nothing left to give Her sacrifices often go unnoticed and are rarely ever appreciated Her kindness is often mistaken for weakness and her silence is taken as consent She has become the designated villain for all the ills and dysfunctions of the black family She wore a crown of dignity instead of pride because she is divine of spirit, I thought to myself I lifted my head up to apologise to her but to my surprise she now had my likeness for a face I was immediately engulfed by the all familiar shame I'm often expected to feel whenever I react to provocation with anger as I saw myself reflected in her Bile rushed up my throat to fill my mouth leaving a soury bitter taste on my tongue, as my eyes brimmed up with tears and painful memories flooded my mind The angry black woman looked deep into my eyes with compassion and rested her gentle gaze on my soul warming it up with her unconditional love Her radiance surpassing her battered flesh and eroded self confidence as her true nature shone through illuminating her striking poise, beauty and strength Her dark eyes were deep pools of wisdom that glowed with a fire that I knew could never be put out She straightened her back, squared her shoulders and stood tall It dawned on me then that she was the brave warrior no tales of glory were ever told of The unsung heroine born into servitude and repaid with contempt The black woman had to wear anger for an amour to raise kingdoms with her bare hands, only to have her glory awarded to others time and time again Yet she carried on being an indiscriminate nurturer and a lover She was trusted with the master's precious offspring who later on she had to call master, as they thanked her with either indifference or mockery, but she held her head high and stayed on her path Always quick to grab the sharpened side of the blade with her bare hands to protect her brood Conditioned to put others before herself and want little in return She has to learn self love the hard way if she ever does at all She is a fierce mama bear who protects even the Judas in her tribe Even as she is expected to adorn her oppressors with songs of adulation like she is a medieval minstrel, she never wavers in her stance Why is it taboo for her to blow off steam when those less burdened fly off the handle for far less I admire her strength for she shoulders the heat of fire, Mme Lobopo 's magic that births passion in the creation of life She that carries the flaming sword of Gaia on her tongue has eyes that turn to pools of scalding hot lava as a mark of her fervour for life Your crown is welded on o bearer of the flame! it just needs adjusting occasionally The angry black woman in you is a goddess warrior of fire, have no doubt my dear sister Learn to harness her power to stand strong in your might

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021




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