A black woman with a voice
I only know two things for sure: life can sprout in my womb and melanin maps my skin. I’m a black woman. My womanhood does not and can not suppress my blackness. My blackness does not and can not precede my womanhood. I’m the walking sun - snatched from the sky - floating to freedom on a golden raft. I’m the secret passageway between the divine and the mundane. I can unleash a seism with words - within, through, out of my chest and my pen. I find my truth in my words. I find my power in my truth. Everything else about my identity is challengeable, mutable and erasable. I own my ability to carry a myriad of life forms, my pigmented shell and my voice.
by Slandie Prinston