Picture by Tim Okamura taken from Pinterest
Time has been necessary;
now I care, I care more than yesterday.
Now and here, from the navel of the diaspora, everything matters more to me.
Now I look at the mirror and I don’t compare myself with others…
There is nothing more beautiful than delving into the root of my black essence.
There is nothing more beautiful than the black lullaby, zigzagging in my head with the tone of my many mothers’ voices…
They have insulted me.
They have pigeonholed me, and they have even labeled me as a whore because of my verses…
That no longer matters to me because I care.
I care about my black skin,
I care about my tousled hair,
I care about my black presence, with the strident smile of mine.
I care about the size of my black hips.
With the seasoning of my meals, and the passion that beats between my chest and back.
The logic of this society makes no sense, it leaves you marks that turn into war wounds.
My body is synonymous of pain and grace; my memory has made an even more powerful shell of flesh and blood covering my existence.
Joy; It leans on the strength of my voice and lyrics.
I am a woman, a black woman; unique like each of us who breathe under this sky.
I am a woman, a black woman; redundant and resilient beauty.
I am a woman, a black woman; I am not ashamed of the particularity of my features, I raise them to the power of the lofty.
I revel in my beliefs, in the strength of my sex, in the bump of my hips again and again; and in the worth of my thunderous gender.
I am a black woman, proudly black.
Unable to look at your waist when I can look into your eyes and tell you that: between you and me, there is none above the other…
I am a black woman, and my story precedes me as yours does. Lower your weapons, cease your fire, and I will stop defending myself…
Visit the author’s blog at: https://erosenguardia.wordpress.com/