I was never her, the girl that fit into society’s definition
of beautiful. I look at TV Series, Movies and pictures on the web and find
myself seeking to alter a part of my temple so that I can become her. I look at
her thinking wow she is beautiful, translating to I am not. We are not taught
to love ourselves as we are, to appreciate the beauty in our uniqueness. So I add
and alter till I conform, and ultimately hate myself even more as the façade to
fit into your world becomes my greatest burden.
There is a template
of ‘black girl’ out there that my mould does not seem to conform into. My sometimes
well-articulated words have had me called intelligent so I took that to hide
the ‘smart-mouthed black woman’ that some may been brave to call me. Yet as
expected that mask of intelligence failed me. So maybe my mind was not the answer
so I brought it down to my heart and expressed my heart and felt at the title ‘angry
black woman’. Of course another point to add to my archives of failures. My body
I knew to never be the answer for ‘ugly black woman’ I had already claimed.
So, what does it mean to be beautiful?
What does it mean to be black?
The colour of my skin should truly and completely not mean a
thing, but it does. It has scared and shaped me and has done even worse to
history. Being black, being female has always left in awe:
“For a black girl you really speak English well….”
“For a black girl you really are smart…”
“For a black girl you really are beautiful…”
Why have the lines been drawn?
When will it be okay for me to be me?
Who gets to choose whether or not I can be defined as
beautiful?
These questions are not mine, these are ours. You beautiful
black girl, who wants to be the first in your family to go to university; you
who has fallen in love with someone of outside of your race; you who wants more
out of your life than only being someone’s than someone.
Powerful, Beautiful, Smart black girl these are your
questions.
Inspired by Viola Davis
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