Angry Black Woman

I am not just angry. I’m enraged. If one more person tells me how strong I am, I will literally fucking snap.
Deep Breath
I feel like nobody hears me. I keep saying over and over again that I am not okay, and everyone smiles and insists that I am. I stop to question myself. Doubting the validity of my own truth.
deep breath
My thoughts get dark. I romanticize death as the most peaceful slumber, void of all the heavy I feel. Death feels light. I know what happens when you say that. People get nervous. Or…they should.
Five Deep Breaths
I’m feeling the labor of each breath. Moving the blood through my stream brings sweat to my brow. Existing is exhausting. Everything in me wants to shut down. Please shut down, I beg. Maybe if the physical matches the mental people will take you seriously?
deep breath
Since when are the tears of a Black Woman ever valuable? Over and over again I am reminded of just how object I am to white systems. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about returning to work. My conviction might be as deep as Colin Kaepernick’s but my pockets were not.
tearful breaths

I have to make the decision to go back to work, knowing I am mentally and emotionally not well. I am making this decision because I am exhausted at trying to fight for care while simultaneously defending my right to disability benefits. I spent my entire leave in conflict and grief.
deep breath
how badly do you have to be bleeding before someone acknowledges your pain? The unfortunate truth in this country is that in Black skin? You can die live on television and there will still be debates on your humanity.
I am reaching the point where I’m ready to shout Enough!
but then what?