She is the calm before the storm

She is the storm in a teacup

She is the cup that keeps on pouring

Until She decides to stop

or cracks.

Whichever comes first.



She is loud.

She is quiet.

She is sunshine on a rainy day

And raindrops when the skies are clear



She is light

She is dark

And any other hue in between

That God graces her with

And all are beautiful in their own right

She does not need to dim her light



She is in the recipes that have been passed down

The photos that grace the mantelpiece

And the language that you speak on your tongue

And just as she precedes you

She will outlive you too

As she exists through all that you say and do


Because there is no singular black woman

And she cannot be boxed down by what you say

Or weaved into what you want her to be

Instead, She creates her own definition

That does not start or end with her hair

Which is just a chapter and not the whole story.


She is the author of her own life.


Who is She?


She is her ,

She is you

She is me

She is whoever she wants to be.