I am

I am a woman. A woman with feelings.

I am supposed refrain from my emotions.

I am taken for as a child, as a little girl, and to some people this makes me weak.

I am just supposed to listen to my male co-workers and associates.

I am sexuliazed for my body.

I am the definition of “can’t” and “weak”.

I am a woman with curves and kinky curls, and at my workplace this is disgusting to people.

I am supposed to put my hair in wigs in order for me to be respected.

I am supposed to wear black to make me look slimmer and thinner.

I am not allowed to look mad or be mad because I always look mad.

I am a black teenage girl.

I am insecurity disguised as confidence.

I am fear disguised as maturity.

I am curves that hinder my confidence and force me into shadows my people have physically

escaped from.

I am beauty.

I am curls, braids, cornrows, knotless braids, and sew ins.

I am natural.

I am confidence.

I am not what they call acting too fast or too grown.

I am a survivor of standards built against me.