I am a mother, first and foremost.
I am beautiful, inside & out.
I am a proud Black American.
I am a worker.
I am an artist (in my mind).
I am a poet, but you wouldn’t know it.
I am a lover, with great passion.
I am a survivor, I have lost so much in my lifetime.
I am broken, severely, internally – into a million pieces.
I am a friend to all who’ve showed me due care.
I am a nemesis to mediocrity.
I am an enigma to those who try and put me in a box to fit their nefarious stereotypes about Black American women.
I am afraid of failing my child.
I am plagued with nightmares about my wrong choices and the tears shed from an era gone by.
I am exhausted daily because I give 104.76429% from the time I put on my shoes.
I am very fragile.
I am human.