Muse 5

Up ] Muse 1 ] Muse 2 ] Muse 3 ] Muse 4 ] [ Muse 5 ] Muse 6 ] Muse 7 ] Muse 8 ] Muse 9 ] Muse 10 ] Muse 11 ] Muse 12 ] Muse 13 ] Muse 14 ] Muse 15 ] Muse 16 ] Muse 17 ] Muse 18 ] Muse 19 ] Muse 20 ] Muse 21 ] Muse 22 ] Muse 23 ] Muse 24 ] Muse 25 ] Muse 26 ] Muse 27 ] Muse 28 ] Muse 29 ] Muse 30 ] Muse 31 ] Muse 32 ] Muse 33 ] Muse 34 ] Muse 35 ] Muse 36 ] Muse 37 ] Muse 38 ] Muse 39 ] Muse 40 ]
 - World's Largest Selection



I have the pleasure to work with and teach some really interesting students, and a few of them always send me interesting readings, by e-mail.  I would like to share some of them here.  

Heather and Kimani, both seniors at Knoxville College always send me provocative and interesting readings.  This obituary that Heather sent me was particularly moving.  While I know, thank the Lord, that it is not entirely true, it does provide us with quite an interesting perspective of ourselves as black women.   And I celebrate the fact that many of us are "still here."


 88x31 What Makes You Tick


On August 15, 1999, at 11:55 p.m., while struggling with

the reality of being a human instead of a myth,

the strong black woman passed away.


Medical sources say she died of natural causes,

but those who knew her know she died from being silent

when she should have been screaming,

milling when she should have been raging,

from being sick and not wanting anyone to know

because her pain might inconvenience them.


She died from an overdose of other people clinging to her

when she didn't even have energy for herself.


She died from loving men who didn't love themselves

and could only offer her a crippled reflection.


She died from raising children alone and

for not being able to do a complete job.


She died from the lies her grandmother told her mother and

her mother told her about life, men & racism.


She died from being sexually abused as a child and

having to take that truth everywhere she went

every day of her life,

exchanging the humiliation for guilt and back again.


She died from being battered by someone

who claimed to love her and she allowed the battering

to go on to show she loved him too.


She died from asphyxiation, coughing up blood from

secrets she kept trying to burn away

instead of allowing herself the kind of

nervous breakdown she was entitled to,

but only white girls could afford.


She died from being responsible,

because she was the last rung on the ladder and

there was no one under her she could dump on.


The strong black woman is dead.


She died from the multiple births of children she never

really wanted but was forced to have

by the strangling morality of those around her.


She died from being a mother at 15 and a grandmother

at 30 and an ancestor at 45.


She died from being dragged down and sat upon by

un-evolved women posing as sisters.


She died from pretending the life she was living

was a Kodak moment instead of a 20th century,

post-slavery nightmare!


She died from tolerating Mr.Pitiful,

just to have a man around the house.


She died from lack of orgasms because she

never learned what made her body happy

and no one took the time to teach her and sometimes,

when she found arms that were tender,

she died because they belonged to the same gender.


She died from sacrificing herself for everybody and

everything when what she really wanted to do was be a

singer, a dancer, or some magnificent other.


She died from lies of omission because

she didn't want to bring the black man down.


She died from race memories of being

snatched and raped and snatched and sold and

snatched and bred and snatched and whipped and

snatched and worked to death.


She died from tributes from her counterparts who should

have been matching her efforts instead of showering her

with dead words and empty songs.


She died from myths that would not allow her to

show weakness without being

chastised by the lazy and hazy.


She died from hiding her real feelings

until they became hard and bitter enough to invade her

womb and breasts like angry tumors.


She died from always lifting something from

heavy boxes to refrigerators.


The strong black woman is dead.


She died from the punishments received from

being honest about life, racism & men.


She died from being called a for being verbal,

a dyke for being assertive and a

whore for picking her own lovers.


She died from never being enough of what men wanted,

or being too much for the men she wanted.


She died from being too black and died again

for not being black enough.


She died from castration everytime somebody thought of her

as only a woman, or treated her like less than a man.



She died from being misinformed about her mind,

her body & the extent of her royal capabilities.


She died from knees pressed too close together

because respect was never part of the foreplay

that was being shoved at her.


She died from loneliness in birthing rooms and

aloneness in abortion centers.


She died of shock in courtrooms where she sat,

alone, watching her children being legally lynched.


She died in bathrooms with her veins busting open with

self-hatred and neglect.


She died in her mind, fighting life racism, & men,

while her body was carted away and

stashed in a human warehouse for the spiritually mutilated.


And sometimes when she refused to die,

when she just refused to give in,

she was killed by the lethal images of blonde hair,

blue eyes and flat butts, rejected by the

O.J.'s, the Quincy's, & the Poitiers.


Sometimes, she was stomped to death by racism & sexism,

executed by hi-tech ignorance while she carried

the family in her belly, the community on her head,

and the race on her back!


The strong silent, talking black woman is dead!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Or is she still alive and kicking??????????????

I know I am still here.!!!


Author Unknown


 Animated 234x60

 Banner 10000031

Webmasters!  Add a link to your site!


Free-For-All Links
Add a link to your website!


Tell A Friend!
Type In Your Name:

Type In Your E-mail:

Your Friend's E-mail:

Your Comments:

Receive copy: 




Hit Counter