Strong

Poetry

It’s not in a black woman’s DNA to be weak. An illusion of strength to appear not-weak. I’ve been strong for so long that I can’t tell the difference between strength and hardness. A strong rod made of pride and insecurities. Fear mixed up with bitterness. Pain of wisdom grew roots of doubts. For once, I would like to be ok to be a black woman, weak in the arms of a man. For once, I would like to trust a man with my life, with my heart. I’m not as strong as I use to be, not as strong as I had to be… I feel fragile, vulnerable and at the mercy of my enemy. But it’s God’s strength keeping me strong in my weakness

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