They said that we were “loud.”
That we were just too much.
They said that we screamed attitude,
That our silence was more than enough.
They looked at us, they looked at them;
They looked at our hair, they looked at our colored skin.
Of course, they looked at our estrogen,
And they decided we were simply just
“way too much for them.”
But the thing is that we were never the problem.
Not since never, not since Harlem.
I know this true, true in my heart, yet I still wonder why–
can the white boys shout? Why can they scream?
Why is it that we can only daydream?
What is it about how the world sees my skin, what is it that they know?
God, is it something with my melanin?
Sometimes, I wonder what the world thinks.
Does my color rob my voice from my throat?
The blacker I am, the more my silence is supposed to grow?
The curvier I find my hips,
The thicker I find my thighs,
The fuller I find my lips,
The richer I find my eyes;
Is that where my voice is meant to go?
Is my body just so loud that my mouth is not supposed to make a sound?
…
Deep breath out, deep breath in. Finally, I know what I–what we mean to them.
We will always be too loud to a world that craves our silence.
We will always be too proud to a world that desires dominance.
We will always be too strong, too much for a world that wants us on a crutch.
So, sis. Sissy. Let us be loud and proud.
Let us raise our heads and grin in their face.
Promise me. Promise.
You, beautiful girl, will take up space.
Author’s Note:
I wrote this for the other black girls in the world. I hope everyone who sees this can take something from it and understand a little bit more about our experience. Black women are not a monolith, but we do take up space. <3
Jade Harris | 17 | Fairburn, GA | @jcharriswrites on Instagram
