Black Woman: A Poem

James Baldwin said to be black and relatively conscious in America is to be in a constant state of rage. But I say to be black and woman in America is to have that rage cloaked in invisibility yet on display for the world to see. I don’t need anyone to tell me my anger is justified, trust me I know. But if you try to validate my rage just to appease your guilt in hopes that I will seeth in silence, rather than cause a scene, well baby you’ve got another thing comin I am overlooked, better yet, looked through professionally, even when I’m the only one who looks like me. To acknowledge me is to accept the potency of my pain and persecution and so the safer option is to treat me like I am invisible and yet I am everywhere; providing popular culture like it is a full time job while turning my anger to action that everyone benefits from. But who helps the black woman when she can’t help herself? As long as I am not right in front of you staring you dead in the eye, I can be made into a caricature and criticized while you benefit off my labor So yes, to be black and woman in America is to be in a constant state of rage and right here before you stands exhibit A One day I was told that the natural features which were bestowed on me would be preferred on someone of lighter complection, better yet someone who wasn’t black at all. EXCUSE ME?! How dare you say that the curve of my hips the coast of Africa personified, the fullness of my lips, a monument to words of life That the versatility of my personality or the ingenuity of my hairstyles would look better on someone whose skin wasn't quite as dark chocolate as mine Tell me sir have you lost your mind? My anger at these words was interjected with a heart wrenching pain because they were spoken by a black man. Damn black man. Look what you let them do to you. but wait a minute now you bear some responsibility too. Weathered by racism, emboldened by patriarchy, this black man had the audacity to open up his mouth and insult me You’re only revealing a desire for cheap imitation while rejecting the priceless originality of a masterpiece. Young man can’t you see your insecurities leaking. Little boy I MADE YOU. Close your mouth when I’m speaking. Just so you know, you are nothing without me. I am your mother, your sister, your aunt and your daughter How dare you disgrace yourself by speaking ill of me A feeble attempt to hide your internalized self loathing. It is a shame that I have to spell out my humanity in terms of its relation to your being before you understand that I am worthy of respect. How sad that you have to identify me as someone’s something before you see my value. I’ll have you know that I come from royalty rare, hand crafted by God. A diamond forged under the pressure of oppression but still shining bright Illuminating a future where the combination of my blackness and my womanhood doesn’t necessitate rage. A world where I am free from men of any color who seek to invalidate me A world where I don’t have to choose which burden, that of the woman or the black that I’m going to shoulder today A world where I am free to be as angry as I want to be. Or better yet a world where I don't get enraged at all Especially not by the likes of you