by T. Lee
Anger. It’s a derivative emotion that requires maturity and patience to overcome. This week I’ve had so many opportunities to throw caution to the wind and give in to my lesser self, but each time I called upon the lessons I’ve learned from the women that have helped me manage something that I used to struggle with.
I can’t write this letting anger win, not on the first beautiful Dallas day we’ve had in weeks. Not on Women’s Day. It’s not a 3:30 service attached to it, but let’s praise the queens today. I’m gonna try my best to do it my way despite that derivative emotion lingering.
I want to start by recognizing all of the beautiful women in this world who have endured and survived the tyranny of misogyny worldwide. I consider myself an ally to intersectional feminists fully understanding that I do not possess the knowledge or experience to label myself as one. But there’s only room for two women to receive flowers from my written expression, instead of giving in to anger, let’s have a round of applause for my mother Cynthia and my Bobby Womack lyric Tina. You youngsters don’t know nothin’ bout that.
My mother raised me to be strong, deliberate and intensive in all things that I do. Her commitment to training one daughter and two sons to be good people first and foremost was an undertaking that life has taught me wasn’t nearly as easy as she made it look. I know because disrespect has been my best friend this week. Who raised yew niggas?! Whoever did it should either read the instruction manual again or say a prayer because there’s an ass whoopin waiting. However, despite not having many material blessings in our home I was raised in a home rich in love so anger can’t win. Thank you, Mama. Your womanhood was strong enough to shape a man, and that doesn’t validate you nor equal your whole, but on a day dedicated to appreciating the strength of femininity, these are your flowers.
To give love you have to know love. To give grace you have to receive grace. As a lesser version of myself, it was quite a task to love me as I was, but your commitment to us was remarkable. You were never there to baby me nor for my fuck shit, you just called out imperfections and showed grace, That was love. I’mstill not perfect but them training wheels aren’t a thing no more. When the bullshit comes my way, I know how to be bigger than that now. When there’s a need for me to express myself, you support it fully or you tell me I’m doing the most. When we need to be a Youngboy lyric, it’s up there. But sometimes, it’s as simple as listening to a Bobby Womack love song to remember that my blessing is bigger than any stress these hoe niggas can cause. Thank you, Pot.
Happy Women’s Day.