Let me start by saying,
I am. What a black woman can;
What she breathed life into through the likes of man;
Coddled and cultured till I could stand
And at 18, took the final break from holding my hand.

I am proof, an apparatus stating my body is a temple,
Not the carcass for dead dreams of men who just weren't able.
Your sin isn't housed in a chess piece you save for later,
Doubly criticized and crumpled for hoarding like paper.

This world isn't ready for what a black woman can
Separate from a man’s shadow, the suffocating hand;
She stands- back aching, unwavering, and heart at the ready
To take hate and irony from both sides because a man’s head ain't steady.

As a woman, she craves for a home to belong,
Wanting balance between right, wrong, and staying strong.
Each step she takes is a battle, it's a civil vengeance,
And because the war isn't easily won,
Anger and fear are her penchant.

And heritage will sway the course, it will rattle or succeed with her,
As if troubles and tribulations could make black skin any thicker.
The outliers pucker their lips, they yell “Emergency, Come quicker”-
Cause nothing like calling out black strength will make the masses any sicker.

So you stand,
You stand for every miracle that Black can-

What history has shown nobody will ever tear
Down
You lift,
You lift until black melts bright
And the color spectrum knows what it is to be one with the night.

And you stand,
You stand for what every woman can,
How their every embodiment is a representation of man
Not same,
Because we differ in astronomical ways,
And no politically correct term will ever make us the same.

But we are,
In a likeness unfounded, unnamed,
Discarded by those who only wish to tame,
So together, in this effort to just understand,
We join hands in fighting for What a Black Woman Can.

    Poetryslam.org