Natural hair on my head writhing like snakes
Skin rich with melanin, with fine, arched brows
Thick lips quick to pout, expression quick to scowl
The face of an angry black woman
But that is merely the surface of me
Hiding a person beyond the label
A personality, a racist fable
The mask of an angry black woman
Dark scowl, and dark skin are protective
one from society and one from the sun
a strong deterrent, but not an infallible one
the illusion of the angry black woman
Past my anger is the joy of living.
Past the skin, a person; past the scowl, a name.
Invisible, with only myself to blame
The dichotomy of the angry black woman.
My loud antics hide my pain
At the realization that I’m trapped
A maze of my own creation
Contributing to a racist nation
Voice so loud
Forever the angry black woman.