I learned from a young age to hold my tongue,

To watch and wonder but say nothing,

To look upon social injustices with the rest of the world

With wide eyes but hands that do nothing.

I learned to use words like rare currency-

Few and far between;

I’ve spoken more words on this stage than I did in all of 2016.

I was a child when I was taught to be quiet.

Just barely an adult and I’ve finally learned to speak up.

My words are crafted with a tongue

Sharp from years of staying silent;

I write my poems and my stories with the heat that’s been growing inside,

So proud when I see my own self staring back at me on paper,

So proud I choose to share it with the world,

But this country was not made for me.

It was not made for those with skin like mine,

So it spat my own words back in my face,

Pointed a finger

As if affixing a label to my forehead.

“Bitter black woman” it said.

I’ve been told that’s what I’m becoming.

I’ve been told I need to go back to being quiet.

But I can assure you, I am not becoming anything.

I’ve been bitter for as long as I can remember.

And of course I am.

As you so kindly pointed out, I am a black woman.

I have a good reason to be bitter-

I’m tired.

I’m tired of having to explain that I am tired.

No shit, I’m exhausted.

Every move I make in this world must be calculated and well thought out;

I have to map out my own way home

Because the dark is not a safe place

Yes, I’m tired.

But I’ll explain one more time what makes me such a bitter piece of dark chocolate.

Let me straighten my planned parenthood hat,

Which I don each day like armor;

I’ll roll up my sleeves

Show off my melanin,

Which society has only just deemed okay to wear around in public;

Tie back my hair which raises more concern

Than the Black Lives Matter campaign did;

Part my lips and open my mouth

Do my best to enunciate.

But don’t you dare comment on how educated I sound

It’s not a compliment when you say it like that

And don’t you ask me what percentage of black I am, what authority I have to speak on the topic

You see,

Your ignorance is not original.

It’s been engraved in my head

Like a maze I have to navigate

Each time I open my mouth to speak.

I’ve been told not to make people uncomfortable,

Which is a shame;

I like making people uncomfortable.

Maybe they’d learn faster

If they’d learn to be uncomfortable.

But instead we tiptoe around microaggressions

Because if we speak out of turn,

We turn into the “Bitter WOC”.

They use that word to make a mockery of our own anger,

To downplay their own part in it.

Well no shit we’re bitter -

We stand in a country built by our ancestors.

White House - more like black House.

If you wanna talk bitter, look no further than your president’s twitter account.

But no that doesn’t count,

His skin is too many shades too light,

His gender identity too male to be scoffed about.

No shit I’m angry.

I’ll be loud about it too.

I learned as a young girl

That just saying no is not enough,

So I better scream it.

No!

You cannot touch my hair.

No!

You cannot say the n-word

No!

I will not tolerate your blatant misogyny

Maybe if I’m loud enough,

You’ll forget I’m a woman

And take me seriously

Instead of just thinking about seriously taking me.

But I must be sure to find that fine line,

Stumble to the other side

I become what men and women alike both despise.

The bitch.

All hands and clapping

Telling and anger

The bitch.

Someone who needs to get laid

Someone who will never get laid

The bitch.

Who does she think she is?

Well bitches get things done.

So if a bitter bitch I become,

All the power to me

Because bitches wear the pants

And maybe then you'll keep yours on.

And to all the WOCs afraid of being bitches,

Afraid of being bitter,

For all the women,

Like young me

Whose lips have been stitched shut

With the weight of society’s naivety.

I beg you to break apart those bindings -

Free the words from your throat

Let them RIP free in a riot of angry notes.

I can promise you you're not alone

I’m starting an army.

Racists and misogynists need not apply-

An army of bitter WOCs.

Sign-up sheets will be posted at the door.

Bring your sharp tongue and all seeing eyes,

Be ready to cut down anyone who dare say you complain too much,

Who says you’re too loud,

Too angry,

Who think they have a right to comment on your temperament,

Who try to gouge out the bitterness in you with their own privilege,

Who are blind to the fact that they’re the reason you’re angry in the first place.

I’m starting an army,

Because this bitter black woman

-Is tired.