[Speaking] is never without fear; of visibility, of the harsh light of scrutiny and perhaps judgment, of pain, of death. But we have lived through all of those already, in silence, except death. And I remind myself all the time now, that if I were to have been born mute, and had maintained an oath of silence my whole life for safety, I would still have suffered, and I would still die.
The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an attempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us, for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken.
I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood. That the speaking profits me, beyond any other effect....what I most regretted were my silences. Of what had I ever been afraid? ...Death on the other hand, is the final silence...my silences had not protected me. Your silences will not protect you.
I have a duty to speak the truth as I see it and share not just my triumphs, not just the things that felt good, but the pain, the intense, often unmitigated pain. It is important to share how I know survival is survival and not just a walk throught the rain.
What woman here is so enamored of her own oppression that she cannot see her heel print upon another woman's face?
Anger, used, does not destroy. Hatred does.
Silence has never brought us anything of worth.
If you can't change reality, change your perceptions of it.
I have come to believe that caring for myself is not self-indulgent. Caring for myself is an act of survival.
I realize that if I wait until I am no longer afraid to act, write, speak, be, I'll be sending messages on a Ouija board, cryptic complaints from the other side
...and that visibility which makes us most vulnerable is that which also is the source of our greatest strength.
One pays a lot, we all pay a lot, for awareness.
Wherever the bird with no feet flew, she found trees with no limbs.
What do we want from each other after we have told our stories
We tend to think of the erotic as an easy, tantalizing sexual arousal. I speak of the erotic as the deepest life force, a force which moves us toward living in a fundamental way.
My fear of anger taught me nothing.
I am not only a casualty, I am also a warrior.
Every Black woman in America lives her life somewhere along a wide curve of ancient and unexpressed angers.
In order to perpetuate itself, every oppression must corrupt or distort those various sources of power within the culture of the oppressed that can provide energy for change.
What I most regretted were my silences. Of what had I ever been afraid?
I am a Black Lesbian Feminist Warrior Poet Mother, stronger for all my identities, and I am indivisible.
There's always someone asking you to underline one piece of yourself - whether it's Black, woman, mother, dyke, teacher, etc. - because that's the piece that they need to key in to. They want to dismiss everything else.
I was going to die, if not sooner, then later, whether or not I had ever spoken myself. My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you.
The white fathers told us: I think, therefore I am. The black goddess within each of us - the poet - whispers in our dreams: I feel, therefore I can be free.
Because the machine will try to grind you into dust anyway, whether or not we speak.
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