Atlas

Black. 

Woman.

Black Woman. 

Born at the intersection of the most polarizing of crossroads, and yet she dares to dance across that fine tightrope every day. She has the audacity to be both. 

With her wide nose, round hips, and full lips she is excellent.

With skin of rich, warm hues that glows and absorb the sun. 

She is radiant.

She is magic. 

She shines despite the many storm clouds which try to dim her light. 

Black women.

I see Atlas in every single one of us- shoulders sagged while bearing the wearisome weight of the world.

The world wants to place every burden our backs and call us “strong,” because we can take it, right? We can carry the load.

We carry the weight of our communities, of our elections, of our men. 

Throw every stone at us, launch every vile insult, every obstacle and expect us to remain steadfast, upright, and unshaken. 

But we can’t weather every storm. 

Every bough must break.

Black women scream the loudest for the injustices of others and in return receive only the hush of whispers for their pain and a sharp condemnation for having the gall to speak- “too loud,” “too sassy,” “too much.”

Cries that fall on deaf ears, that try to erase us.

If we lift everyone else, who lifts us?

Who will reciprocate the love and energy we pour into others?

Black girls are hurting. 

We often quietly nurse our scars in solitude, wrapping them with a light bandage and putting on a brave face.

But nowadays our wounds are harder to ignore. It’s a searing, debilitating pain which makes it hard to think of much else. Thoughts rattling around, echoes magnified by the world’s magnanimous silence.

Black woman.

Tilt her face up so that her crown may not fall.

Press your shoulder against hers as she cannot always stand alone.

Squeeze her hand to let her know you are there.

For every Toyin, there are so many women and stories that disappear into a cavernous abyss of anonymity.

For every one of us lost, I feel a piece of myself fall away. She was here. She lived, she loved, she cared and was cared for. I see her, I am her and she is me.

Invest in our queens like we invest in our kings. To know they are valuable, seen, and heard. To know that we will be caught when we fall. 

Listen to black women.

Believe black women.

Protect black women.

In loving memory of Oluwatoyin Salau and all Black women victims of senseless violence.

Photo Credit: "Blue Monday" by Annie Lee