Dear black woman. Take my seat. Rest your feet because although I know what you’re feeling seems like defeat, I need you, we need you to get back out on these streets. Taught the walk and grace of a Queen only to be torn down by what is foreseen. And now you’re questioning your worth, oh nah My Queen. But I know what you mean.
Walking into a room, feeling that chill down your spine, knowing your very presence brings questions to mind. Only they misunderstand. Do they not know what this country was built on? On the back of my mothers and theirs before them. Do they not know the strength I embody? I leave my identity at the door daily to make you feel comfortable in a space that was never designed for me.
The angst I have, yet you can’t see because I must be aware of my tone, my face, my grace, but the minute I cross that line, I’ve validated everything you ever thought about me. A black woman. Angry. Loud. Labeled. And no matter what I do, in your world, there is no safe space for me. But I still can’t comprehend what you fail to see.
So as a black woman, I will my take my seat. I will rest my feet. Because although at times I feel defeat, you have no idea who you’re about to meet.
CH
