Why Are Black Women Strong?

Who has birthed the number one degraded figure in society and was forced to raise them with all precautionary measures to a cruel world awaiting them? The black woman in fact mothers the black man, so massive in mental and physical strength that centuries and centuries ago another race had to break them mentally. Kindling their hope, the black man, down to almost nothing but a brainwashed state of mindset of thinking that they have never and will  amount to anything. But yet we were left standing to bear the weight of it all, begging, pleading, whipping, and cursing our sons while still loving them all to more. Trying to beat out of them what society has beaten into them, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not. We are still yet reaching deep down on the inside to our survivor inhibitions when disappointment kissed our husbands heads, causing them to abandon their very duties as men of their own households. When mercy was depleted and the electricity was turned off it was the black woman’s quick inhibition to preserve the only meat her children had to eat in ice. It was her basic instinct not to let her babies see her cry and moan to God for a breakthrough of change. This powerful creation, the black woman, has been so humbled to scrub floors of the ungrateful and provide meals to the unkind in order to bring back a few underpaid but well appreciated dollars home to her awaiting family. This same woman in later decades would work her way with patience and integrity  up the corporate chain, pocketing hateful stares and backstabbing ways from judgmental counterparts while keeping her head up and eyes towards the hills from where her help cometh from. From the inside out, she is strong, overcoming mental barriers of a world that tells her she is only a second class beauty compared to her lighter skinned counterparts with silkier hair than she. The black woman, armed with strength further than many eyes can see.

Miserable Woman

Miserable Woman, why are you so? Choosing to see the faults beyond the needs of every lady who encounters your pathway. Making passive judgments on the way they walk, talk, dress, and conduct themselves even as blameless as they are. There is no pleasing you. Not even God Himself could have enough mercy on your soul for you to be satisfied with life. If one person goes a considerable mile to make your mind be at ease, you whiplash a regret and demand more on your behalf. You wonder why your home is in turmoil and your children have gone astray but you point finger at everyone else as if they are the blame. You, no, not ever have you tried to consider yourself. What can you do or how can you help the situation or change your self-deceiving ways? Miserable Woman, why do you wish to sink everyone in your depressive boat? Not one can have joy upon entering into your atmosphere. Surely hatred and snarls will follow then aboard. Does it help gain you more satisfaction if everyone lived a life like you? If everyone hated themselves and resented life as you do? If complaints ran from the mass’s mouths like water would that please you so? The permanent scowls you could then look upon and judge them a little bit more? Oh Miserable Woman…how long will you decide to be? When will you want to come out and flee from all the self-accounted misery? If you really take a look at life, it’s really not that bad. You have limbs that walk and a mouth that talks yet you use them for your own defeat. Turn those eyes upon yourself and shine the spotlight bright. I urge you to look a little bit deeper to see what you are all about. What caused this all? When did it start, this misery that you have found? There is a way, there is some hope but you need to face yourself. Stop lying woman. Stop telling tales and admit that you want to be through. Freedom is just a mindset away and the only hindrance is you. We each have a will and choose how we live so to all there is no excuse. If misery is the road you choose then each lane will lead to no use. I urge you woman…choose freedom and peace, then slowly learn to love yourself. There is a way, yes there is hope, but choose ye this day to help.

Why Should I Live With No Love?

Beautiful is she yet sulking has become part of her present pastimes. The fiancé that was suppose to cherish her all has never cheated nor laid an angry hand upon her but has somehow pained in her in the worst way imaginable…he simply has lost interest. Her flowing relaxed hair swings to one side as she gazes at her handsome beau across the living room they had decorated in preparation for the rest of their life together. Her ebony eyes soften contrary to her emotions of hatred towards him as she reminisces on the friendship they once shared. She’s not perfect and by far admits to having a lot more to learn but her willingness to work it out supersedes it all. Her motto: Baby let’s talk, work it out…tell me what I did, and we can even get counseling if needed. His response: Nothing…grudges are the simple solutions and suggestions of leaving her to “find the one she really desires” is the coward road most often traveled. So how does she feel? Certainly not worthless because she has an assurance of her worth, but rejection is still a giant in her life. How could someone who she has known for years, the same person who once cherished her to no end now hit her where it hurts the most? All the effort in the world still there is no movement on his behalf. A stalled relationship discourages her spirit but why should she live with no love when she has so much to give? Surely there are plenty more in line who would appreciate who she is and she knows it…so what does she do next?

Her manicured pointer finger slips the lock code of her cell phone revealing forbidden phone numbers of those who she thinks could love her more than the crumbs that she is receiving. She bites her glossed bottom lip contemplating whether or not she should make such a dramatic step knowing that she has never been a cheater…yet aware that she deserves to be treated better than how she has been. But she loves him, she loves her man. Why can’t he just do right? Surely taking the small step of communicating isn’t too hard for him if he really wanted things to work. The ringing in her ear gives her the nervous shakes, her handsome, pure hearted coworker is sure to pick up the other end. His ear has been borrowed many times when she was at her lowest state of heartbreak…yet not one pass was made due to his highest morale of respect for her current relationship. Voicemail. Maybe it wasn’t time to move on yet. She walks back into the living room where her disinterested beau remained glued to the screen. “Baby, do you want to talk about it? I’m sure we can work this out.”

“I’m good. It’s cool,” is his only reaction, his eyes never leaving the television screen, no expression on his face. ...

...to be continued

"I Ain't Gonna Let it Worry Me"

The speakers of the long time family vehicle only scream silence as the worn steering wheel shakes violently obviously from the result of a year’s past due alignment. Instead of facing and resolving all of the issues in her life that pop up in her face and lie dormant tormenting her mind, she decides to settle with a consistent self made pep talk which she often recites to herself quietly throughout the day, “ I ain’t  gonna let it worry me.” No, she is not in denial, she knows very well that her life is in shambles. Her husband of nearly 13 years is a faithful cheater and openly parades around the already small town openly with his young mistress. But she won’t let it worry her. Of course she cares, it hurts but she can’t bring herself to leave him. They argue, she stresses, and progressive hair loss is the conclusion. Barely forty and already the gaps in the back of her mouth where healthy teeth used to call their home are the evidence that stress has gotten the best of her. Her nerves jump and long black lashes flutter as she drives steadily on the rural road home tired from the sleepless nights. She quietly groans even though she travels alone as to hide her pain caused from a mild stomach ulcer, yet another diagnoses due to stress. Worse, she filed bankrupt yesterday, husband won’t work, doesn’t think he is obligated but her babies still need to be fed. They are old enough now to know when times are hard and food is low, lights are off and gas doesn’t work. She won’t let it worry her, she still has to handle her business. Her mind wanders off as she thinks upon her situation…she wanders why God has forsaken her after she has been such a good Christian woman. Why does her husband choose to be with her yet be without her? Why can’t she let him go even though she knows he is bad for her health. Her mind wanders a bit further to the thought of driving her rickety old bucket off road and into one of the Red Oaks up yonder to end it all but a burst of energy pops her eyes open as she snatches the wheel straight leading the car into its rightful place back on the road. Those nights of interrupted sleeps during cry filled nights haven’t won yet. She musters her strength and continues her trip towards home while quietly whispering, “I ain’t gonna let it worry me.”

He Said He Would Change

A cold rainy night engulfs a beautiful glowing woman, belly swollen full of a little boy and right eye closed with pain. She frantically limps towards a small cozy looking house with its porch light on in hopes of finding a safe haven from the man who helped create the child she now carries. Her knocking is not in vain resulting in a wrinkled chestnut brown woman answering the door and ushering her into the safety of her living room.  The nurturing widow of many years wraps the young woman’s wet bare feet in an electric blanket and tries to calm her in order to find out her circumstance but tears and wailing is all that could be produced. While shivers and shakes control the movement of her body, the battered woman recites over and over, “He said he would change.”

Ten months prior to this devastating night, the sweet natured receptionist had made a decision to let her one weakness filter back into her life. Instead of heading to her sister’s advice and ignoring every love letter that her then imprisoned ex boyfriend sent, she chose to embrace and believe the never ending poetry and promises. Thoughts of their prior experiences, the nights of beatings and days of stalking, were simply just pushed to the back of her memory. The seductive yet sweet lines of his handwriting were too good to let pass. Convincing and deceiving all in the same, each letter led a trail to her tender heart which was ready to receive her changed lover.
Within the next few weeks her newly changed beau was released from prison and instantly set up a home within her one bedroom apartment. He said he would change, and for the first month he did just that. The once abusive thug became a sensitive romantic man ready to build a life and family with his eye on the prize of fulfillment. Life for the couple was lived in perfect harmony and a month thereafter the news of a new addition was discovered via a home pregnancy test. He was ecstatic; she was overjoyed, they were together in bliss and wedding plans immediately followed.
Things suddenly took a sharp turn as soon as morning sickness set in for the newly impregnated bride-to be when her fiancé’ began to express his dislikes in everything from how she cooked to the way she made the bed. Character assassination from his end to her soon transformed into outright blows to her face and swift kicks to her growing tummy. Weeks grew into months with night after night of alcohol driven abuse until one stormy evening when she began to scheme her escape route. As soon as his fist met the side of her face for the second time, she swiftly withdrew her grandfather’s switchblade, which he had taught her to maneuver with precision as a teenager, from her bra and connected the sharpest end to his neck.

Leaving him bleeding on the bedroom floor, she fled without shoes, a purse, or even a jacket to protect her from the winter temperature. The faster she ran the faster the thoughts and regrets raced through her head. Never did she ever suspect that her honest life would turn out in this mess, she was a preachers kid. Why didn’t she listen to her sister and do what her heart knew was right? How could she be so foolish? Would her child have to be raised without her do to a possible capital murder charge? The pain numbs her mind as the unfamiliar but kind old woman escorts her into her home out of the rain as she whispers, “He said he would change.”

What is it about a Man?

What is it about a man that can make a woman love him, hate him, then love him all over again all in the same hour? Could it be the sweet reminiscence of the honorable times producing smiles which are then back doored by the thoughts of harsh disagreements causing raging bitterness? Maybe it’s the misunderstanding of a man’s perspective towards the delicate emotions of the female being or a lack on his part to make an effort to try and inspect a woman’s mind and inquire of her heart so that he may be able to meet her emotional needs? Is it the safety of a felt covering of a more dominate figure in her life that keeps her lingering around with a grin of satisfaction stemming from the depths of her soul? Most definitely it might be the occasional, sweet “just because” gestures that make her feel like the queen she knows she already is. All in all, a woman knows that she was made for a man and a man knows that she was created for him. No matter the good of one, or the bad of the other it remains that history will be made over and over again. The hellos, goodbyes, and sweet nights of what is categorized by the world as relationships go on and on, cycle after cycle. One will probably never know what it is about a man that a woman loves to hate, or hates to love but all in all the same remains

Brick House

Big, brown, baby doll eyes slightly slanted at the corners interrogate a reflection that is so easily loved to be hated. Even though the mindset is more mature now, and the jiggle thighs of a twenty something year old is more appreciated than in high school and years past, the voluptuous, brown sugar, brick house of a woman still tugs and pulls at the more fleshy areas of her body while trying to decide on whether or not to place herself in debt for the price of instant weight loss. A true beauty she is and always has been. A full bust accentuates a noticeable waistline, deep curves befall her sides. Hips made for bearing babies protrude out of thick and shapely thighs with a little dainty cellulite sprinkled across the flesh atop her hamstrings. Her pudgy belly only serves as a mild insecurity compared to the wide and rounded rump resting firmly in mid air, a balancing factor to her own scale of physical judgment. She remembers all of the taunting as a child, the smart remarks. She remembers the nights she spent crying as a teen while violently vomiting her dinner into the porcelain receptionist in hopes of losing a pound. She thinks back a year ago on the severe allergic reaction to a small yet promising diet pill which landed her in the hospital near her death bed. Still, she wants freedom from the stereotypical world of “Fat”. Fed up with the indecisiveness rolling through her brain, the voluptuous beauty slaps both her meaty thighs one last time, watching them jiggle as she walks to the microwave and pulls out four leftover fried chicken legs and cornbread. She removed the paperwork from her surgeon’s consultation visit and reviews as she regretfully devours her midnight snack.

Most women never allow the thought of overeating being an act of self retaliation to soak into their mindset. Of course we all know that society labels women who cannot squeeze into a size 7 basically plus size and for the most part unattractive so it would be effective to go into those details. The main focus would be the mindset of the woman who does consider herself beautiful but subliminally takes the fury of not being up to par with glamour’s standards out on herself. From experience, I would be one to know what it feels like to be ridiculed because of being a less than “fit” child to having an ideal body during my late teens then succumbing to sudden weight gain as a young adult. In my room, in my bed, it was never really about the person who made me feel like I was less than human, but it was about me who grew to hate myself for allowing the weight gain to happen in the first place. While looking in the mirror, disgust grew into hatred due to a mixture of other things about myself I despised which had nothing to do with my physique. Instead of trying to fix the unhealthy problem both physically and mentally, I chose to batter myself with even more overeating. This is not to be confused with enjoying “comfort food” due to stress because crash diet after diet I literally wanted myself pay for what I had allowed myself to become which was from a high esteemed respected sexy and fit young lady, to a disrespected and disregarded pile of fat in my own eyes. Complain led to complaint until a good friend with a perfect body basically broke it down that if I did not like the way I looked then I either needed to do something about it, or learn to love it and live with it. I eventually chose both by seeing my family doctor for weight loss monitoring but in the process learned to love my thickness and embrace it. I do not shun surgery or pills because I believe to each her own, we just need to honestly be in tune with ourselves and make sure we are doing what we are doing for the right reasons because it can make a big difference in the mental outcome.

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full.”
Psalm 139:14