Black Girl, Black Woman Atlas
canary in the noxious mineshaft of centuries and centuries of oppression
Black girl,
Black woman,
vivacious whistleblower,
canary in the noxious mineshaft of centuries
and centuries of oppression;
undeniable queen who needs
No throne,
No crown,
No jewels,
only the power that is her brain
and the swell of her determination
to adorn her and move her forward.
Black girl,
Black woman,
you are the shining atlas they look to for the next trend.
They will start from what is left of
straining your culture through
their colander of righteous entitlement and ownership
gilded by years and years of appropriation and White approval
as they go about
mining words and terraforming narratives
then profess brave new ideas and beginnings
while the ink of their pen
sings with the sweat and heart’s blood
of those who actually lived it.
Black girl,
Black woman,
upon the failing of empires and systems
and greed
they will come back
and once again ask (steal)
your seed,
your cells,
and your time
so that they can grow nations
who grow nations who grow nations
of those who are doomed to face
deforestation,
wood cleaved and corpse taken
to be made weightless,
profited from,
and left thankless.
Black girl,
Black woman
be warned
but do not stop raising your voice,
do not stop moving
your tired feet forward,
do not stop
rising from the depths
of the holes they created for you to sink in,
always drilling news ones with their prejudice
to capture you like an unsuspecting animal caught in a trap.
But you are no animal,
and you are not unsuspecting.
Black girl,
Black woman
who carries the weight of a people and the stares that weigh
ten million times ton,
be wary of being the Titan they would have
you be,
carrying all the stolen, ruptured heavens--
dripping shattered stars and spilling floods.
Your responsibility lies only in carrying yourself
and the world you invite in of your own volition.
Your strength lies in being both mapmaker and creator,
mapping topography to pave the way for whoever you want it to
as you create the very landscape beneath your feet.
But don’t forget them,
Black girl,
Black woman.
Don’t forget the people who laugh,
swinging their feet
from their perch on your back
as they judge Atlas below them
for being tired.
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
Part-time daydreamer. Full-time dork.
Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. adventure and other affairs of the heart).
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