POEM: Angry Black Woman

I am not an “angry Black woman.”

An offensive stereotype built on the assumption that Black women are inherently mad at the world.

But is it our fault that there is so much to be angry about?

For centuries, society has divided us—

 dark skin versus light skin,

 coarse hair versus straight hair,

 curls versus “acceptable,”

 braids versus “professional.”

We are defined by shade, texture, tone.

By the width of our lips, the shape of our bodies, the sound of our voices.

Judged by our presence before we are ever known.

Our own men won’t look at us—

quick to choose someone lighter, someone “different,” someone “less complicated.”

Date who you want.

 But don’t spit on us while you do it.

Love who you want.

But don’t degrade us in the process.

We are portrayed in society as:

“angry,” “argumentative,” “short-tempered,” “difficult,” “too much.”

Every movie.

Every show.

Every commercial.

Every storyline.

A one-dimensional narrative repeated until it feels like truth.

We are not allowed to have opinions without being labeled aggressive.

Not allowed to speak without being labeled emotional.

Not allowed to question without being labeled disrespectful.

From dating to workplaces, from media to music—

the same label follows:

Angry Black woman.

But I ask again:

Are we not deserving of love and respect?

Because then maybe we would not be perceived as the “angry black woman.”