As black women, we are taught to be twice as good, show no sign of weakness and never let them see you cry.
Carry the pain from the generational curses you now bare because of what your ancestors endured.
As little girls, our innocence is stolen. We're left with broken hearts, abandonment wounds as we see the backs of the first man we ever loved walking out the door-- or the pain of numbness as we lay on the bedroom floor. Tears streaming down from our eyes silently, with closed, sore bodies.
The girl within us becomes silenced as we learn to conform to the mask of appearing all they want us to be.
Pray it away, they say. Our voices mute, and the girl behind the mask screams but no one hears her. She's masked by the woman in front of you.
Introducing a collection of poetry, from the journal of one woman's story that she learned isn't isolated.
It's time to remove the mask.