Be strong black woman. That's what they say, but my mind is teetering on the edge of insanity. Why am I expected to be so strong, when all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy with myself.

I think that's one of my biggest pet peeves.

Everyone: "Love yourself. Then things will get better."

I have been loving myself for a long time and let me tell you that does not make another person do the same. Being completely in love with my own personality has never prevented me from being taken advantage of. Being comfortable in my skin has never made someone give me their all.

Be strong black woman. That's what they expect. But how can they expect my heart to heal any faster than theirs. Do they think my breast plates are steel; impenetrable?

When the knife cuts me it's just as deep. Our wounds are practically the same, the only difference is that my blood is purple; thicker than yours; darker; more rich. The consistency doesn't matter I just want you to know that I l bleed too. I want you to know that I bruise; I hurt too.

Be strong black woman. That's what I tell myself when I pick my own bones up off of the floor. When I wipe your fingerprints from my body and lather my limbs in coconut oil so your grip isn't so soul clinching. When I look into my mothers eyes knowing that she can feel my pain, I saw that is a strong black woman.

Why must we carry the weight of our people on our backs like pack mules? Never being heard, but touched nonetheless; used nonetheless. Our men slapping our faces with insult and neglect, thinking that we don't bruise.

My brother, you are heavy and I am aching with sadness. My hands bruised from holding your too tight. Jaws locked from holding your words more closely than my own. My feet bleed from walking on golden egg shells that you've placed before me, thinking that it builds character.

Be strong black woman. That is what's expected. They see leather for skin and pipes for veins. Not knowing that my heart breaks too.