Black women have many times been stacked and placed into the same box that does a poor job of describing multi-dimensional women who share varying shades of the colors brown and black.
I am woman, beloved by God, a poet, a dancer, and much much more.
Sometimes I do get angry, but that does not make me angry black women. On the days I am angered by the injustice that is poured freely upon an entire race because of their differences does not subtract from my compassion, my love, and my desire to be a peacemaker among men and women. Even on the days I am angry because I didn’t sleep well or someone is irritating me a little too much does not sum up my entire being as a woman.
When I look in the mirror and notice I am bit less round than the normal woman I am reminded of the words “real men like women with curves.” I realize that this statement does not make me any less black because my hips don’t curve as large and my bust isn’t as plump, for I make up for it it in the weight of my love and the curve of my smile that is more than enough.
Just because my hair grows upwards instead of downward, spiraling towards the heavens refusing to be tamed does not make me anymore black than the black woman next to me whose mane flows like rivers down her back.
To be Black and woman comes in many forms. Like different packaged boxes wrapped on Christmas morning, there is more than one kind of Black woman. It has taken me sometime to realize this and I am so happy I’ve come upon this realization.
I am fearfully and wonderfully made, just as we all are. That is something to be remembered when we are discovering who we are as people and as the workmanship of Christ.