“As black women, we have society speaking for us, defining us and living for us….but what do WE think about ourselves?”

I am not my hair. O but you are young sister. Why? Because society tells you so. From that long mane made of Indian strands, to that black power fro.

I am not my skin tone. That is but another lie. Because before you reach your destination for the day, you’ll be exposed to at least three dozen images that tell you that you shouldn’t be THAT way.

I am not my body. Where did you get that from? Haven’t you heard? Word on the street is that black women are nothing BUT the swivel of their hips, and the jerk of their waist. Hence ┬áthe term “BUT her face,” popping, and other ass shakes. If you don’t have ass then I don’t know what to say.

I am not my words. Unfortunately you’re right. Because everyone wants to bone a thick black woman but no one wants to hear her speak her mind. When she is one that goes against the grain, shut her up with the “angry black woman” labelname. That way you’ll always keep her tame.

I am not my brain. Forever silenced. Conditioned to speak with the swerve of your hips, the flip of your hair and the arch of your back….words only loud enough to be heard during moments of lust…then you slightly readjust for the next time you’re to receive his thrust.

I am not a lot of things…but it doesn’t have to be that way. Just as quick as we’re defined, we can quickly deviate away. Dear black women, we know WHO WE ARE, and it is simply time for the rest of the world to know as well.