I Am Tired Of Being The Angry Brown Girl
I am sick of my own rage. I rage and rage—not because I am the same color as dirt, but because I am treated as if that is exactly what I am.
There can be no passion in my eyes, only burning rage.
There is no happiness or joy in this beating heart of mine because I only have one emotion.
When the world looks at me, brown is not the only color they see. Red floods their vision in a searing fit.
I am not allowed to be soft, I have but only sharp edges, forehead creases, clenched jaws, and a sour scowl.
My purpose is not to love nor cherish, but to live a half-full life, brimming with anger.
I am to spend my days loathing the life I have been condemned to. I am to cry out and curse for my ancestors and my kin, who have been cursed to live out the same ill fate.
I am not as black as night, but I am still painted as the angry brown girl. And while the world deems it appropriate for a white rose to weep, I am not afforded the same beautiful imagery.
My skin is not soft milk, my hair is not gleaming locks of gold, and my eyes are not piercing pools of ice, but does that mean all I will ever be is angry?
I am sick of my own rage. I rage and rage—not because I am the same color as dirt, but because I am treated as if that is exactly what I am.
And although Hitler would be disgusted by me and the Apartheid regime would be the end of me, there are worlds inside of me—so much more than just a brown being.
I am not my rage, I was not made to scowl. I was made to love, despite the world trying to indoctrinate me, telling me that the one thing that is more true than my colored rage is that I should never love me.
But because you told me not to and apparently it’s in my blood to defy what is supposedly natural, I shall love every bit of me. My defiant curls, my caramel skin, and most importantly, my resilient heart.
This heart that pumps out as much love as it does blood, the heart that has been stitched and patched over and over again. I love my heart because it has carried me through all the pain and anger of this world, and although I have so much to be angry about, my heart keeps me soft and reminds me that there is so much more than this “brown girl” image the world has made me out to be.
