Black Girl Magic

Thoughts from last Thursday night-
Snotty-nosed and puffy-eyed at 1am because black girl magic is so powerful it can never be fully understood and threatens anyone who can perceive its power. I just watched the video of Sandra Bland’s arrest and I burst into tears right when the pi-I mean police officer yelled “I have the right-I will yank you out of this car…I will light you up”. The way this man screamed at her it could’ve been 1473 in Elmina, or 1955 in Arkansas or 2015 in Anytown, Anywhere, the World. I feel disposable. I am invisible in the most conspicuous way, that is my humanity is not able to be seen but my black womanhood is an oily smudge on an otherwise white canvas. I know that all I am doing now is adding to the chorus of virtual mourning pouring out of laptop screens and cellphones, but as always writing is my knee-jerk reaction. I only hope that I can move someone who has been struggling to articulate their thoughts on this situation in the same way that I have been. I am young and have been instructed to go forth and set the world on fire. I pray the inferno isn’t made up of my ashes shot into the heavens by state-sanctioned terrorism disguised as patriotism, something like the 4th of July.  
I felt the slap that landed on the housegirl’s cheek in the bite of the shackles of the trafficked aspiring do-better-for-my-family in the snap of the neck of a woman guilty only of forgetting her turn signal but not her rights in the clench of the jaw of African women judges and ministers and politicians in the wails of the mothers demanding bring-back-our-girls in the ache in the back of shake-something-for-me in the sting of tears in please-my-car-broke-down in the roll of the eyes of too angry too black in the defiance of blackgirlmagic isn’t going anywhere. 
Image: Gloria Richardson in 1963, Civil Rights activist and one of the many examples of black girl magic. Source: AP Photo

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