So, a little backstory on this poem. Anyways, lately I have been mulling over the topics of black women, desirability and love. Or even more specifically, the lack of desirability many black women (particularly dark skinned women) experience in their lives (romantic or other). This thought, I’ve had for the longest time, but I do feel was propelled by a scene from “Being Mary Jane”, where Mary Jane speaks during Lisa’s eulogy. I was moved while watching this. There is just something so stark and ground shifting about those who tell the truth and do so unapologetically.
Needless to say, the way she was able to frame why her friend, who was an accomplished student, doctor, etc., was led to kill herself got me thinking about the ways many Black women experience (or don’t) love and attraction. And more importantly, I’ve been contemplating what does this lack of love do to us internally? More to come on this topic…
I think she died of heartache.
Unrequited love, longing, loneliness;
the desperation that comes from never being seen.
The apathy that comes from just one too many rejections.
as if her suffering didn’t matter.
I believe it was those things that killed her.
To simply call it suicide, would be too easy.
It would be anything but the truth.