A Response to, “Please Call Me Angry”
Unlike Shamira, I do not want you to ask me why I am angry. I don’t think it is anyone’s business. And yet, it is one of many stereotypes foisted upon Black Women.
So…let me tell you why this particular Black Woman is angry.
I am angry because it is a matter of survival.
What am I surviving?
I am surviving the emasculation and degradation of the Black Man.
I am surviving single motherhood.
I am surviving video vixens.
I am surviving the refusal to be submissive.
I am surviving white feminism.
I am surviving the Real Housewives and Love and Hip Hop (both of which I LOVE).
I am surviving, “she asked for it”.
I am surviving not being light skinned.
I am surviving natural hair.
I am surviving having locked my hair.
I am surviving black don’t crack (which is true).
I am surviving not having “much back”.
I am surviving fried chicken, watermelon, and orange soda (all delicious!).
I am surviving apple bottom jeans, brazilian weaves, acrylic nails, eye lashes, contouring, lace wigs, botox, butt pads, spanx, spray tans, and the myriad of enhancements the media tells me is beauty.
I am surviving Black, African American, Negro, Colored, Slave, Commodity, Property, Animal, etc.
I am surviving bitch, slut, chickenhead, bird, side jawn, baby momma, main chick, wifey, etc.
I am surviving oreo, bougie, uppity, etc.
I am surviving Madea and the next white person to tell me, “Hello-ur”.
I am surviving welfare, affirmative action, universal health care, progressivism, and anything else privileged folks call a hand out
As a Black Woman I am forced to choose a myth as a persona.
My choices? The list is short, but telling.
So, why chose angry? I am an angry because I am not a hoe, a mammy, nor am I invulnerable.
I am called angry because I am educated and I refuse to lay down and eat the spoonfed bullshit that tells me I am less than daily. I can feed myself, and my meals consist of truth and self love that surpasses your image and ideals.
I am angry because I am single with two master’s degree and a damn good job.
I am angry because I will be paying school loans forever.
I am angry because people are surprised I don’t have kids at 32 like it is an accomplishment that I made it so far without getting knocked up.
I am angry because white men think I am a fad.
I am angry because black men find me intimidating.
I am angry because black women are in competition, and have no idea why.
I am angry because Beyonce had to tell black women to get into formation.
I am angry because somewhere in this country “Hot Sauce in My Bag, Swag” has already been appropriated.
I am angry because people keep telling me All Lives Matter, but police officers in NYC are lobbying to make resisting arrest a felony charge.
I am angry because Shamira’s piece is legit truth and I hate that it is our reality
I am angry because I have to explain why I am angry.
I am angry because the media and society won’t let me be or let me breathe as a woman.
Or, as many of the privileged would say, I am angry because I am Black. You know, since the two are synonymous…