I am myself

Fotografia de Thandiwe Muriu - Série "Camo"

This is a poem made of fragments — my story, and the stories of other Black women.Women who suffer, and have suffered, from the weight of racism woven into patriarchy.

I am myself,

when, before I even grow,

a man looks at me

and says: "you’re gonna be trouble."

I am myself,

when I learn as a child

that I’m mulatta,

tan, caramel, brown — anything but Black.

I am myself,

when I still want to play with dolls,

but eyes already undress me.

I am myself,

when I skip gym class

ashamed of my thin, fragile body.

I am myself,

when, still a girl, I face the mirror

and hate my body, my hair, my skin.

I am myself,

when I’m thirteen, walking home from school,

and a grown man calls me “hot.”

I am myself,

when I wear my pleated navy skirt,

and a stranger’s hand finds its way

between my legs on a crowded bus.

I am myself,

when classmates laugh and name me

for not fitting their mold.

I am myself,

when I fear walking alone at night.

I am myself,

when I’m passed over for a job

because “we already hired a Black girl.”

I am myself,

when I’m killed —

and they say it was to defend someone's honor.

I am myself,

when I send a private photo

to my boyfriend,

and he posts it online.

I am myself,

when I wear my natural hair loose,

and they ask why I don't straighten it.

I am myself,

when they’re shocked

that I don’t know how to samba.

I am myself,

when I walk into a fancy restaurant,

and every gaze tries to erase me.

I am myself,

when I see white women

on runways, on screens, in ads —

and never see me.

I am myself,

when I walk into a store,

and the clerk avoids eye contact.

I am myself,

when my boyfriend gets me pregnant,

leaves me,

and I raise the child on my own.

I am myself,

when my partner hits me,

and someone says,

"you must’ve done something."

I am myself,

when I’m raped,

and the world says

it was my fault.

I am myself,

when they call me a slut

for dancing how I feel.

I am myself,

when I walk through Leblon,

and all the nannies are Black.

I am myself,

when I realize

my son’s chances of being killed

rise — just for being Black.

I am myself,

when I go to the police

after my husband beats me,

and the officer says,

"you two love each other."

I am myself,

when my fiancé gets rich

and trades me

for a white woman.

I am myself,

when a cop smashes

the butt of his gun into my face —

and the media calls it

a natural death.

I am myself,

when I cry — but stay standing.

I am myself,

when I reclaim my name,

my story,

my skin.

I am myself.

I belong to me.

I have died a thousand times —

but each time,

I rise.

by Alessandra Martins