For Those Who Hate Keyshia and Mary

Black women are so sensitive. Everything hurts. I know. Years of mistreatment, miscommunication, dysfunction, distance, ignorance, excuses, exploitation. We are inconsolable. There is no cure. No remedy that will suffice. We are angry. We are sick. We are tired. Black women are so sensitive. Our skin is soft to the touch but it burns just underneath the surface. Our scowl is as wide as our smile. We judge because we have been judged, persecuted, executed, beaten, and battered. We yell out of rage, confusion, corruption, mistrusting, not giving a fuck and just unsure of what else to do. We are intelligent, misrepresented, underappreciated, unpredictable and impatient. We are the first to lift you up and the first to drag you down. We are unapologetic yet always apologizing for someone for doing something we could not control. We are tough yet we are broken. We are whole but mentally in pieces. We are so sensitive. Sensitive to our core. Burdened by our perceptions and our realities. Constantly striving for more yet accepting less. Black women, we are so sensitive. Rightfully, understandably, and unfortunately so.

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