The Sin of Being a Black Woman

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Morelys Urbano

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Spanish

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I grew up four corners from the river and one from the capotillo street;
Between love and poverty.
In a house full of women lost in the custom of a tradition foreign to their will,
Forced to survive and not recognize themselves.
And they raised me loving me whole, loving me free, and loving me unruly.
Because the black woman of the 70's who was obligated to be silent,
Had given birth to a little black girl twice as rebellious, informal, and three times more reckless.
And they were afraid of her.
Since she was little they rushed to sexualize her body and question her path.
She was not easy to tame because if there's something she believed in,
It was in her absolute autonomy.
Sovereign of her body,
Matriarch of her path,
And queen of her life.
She was asked to remain silent in adult conversations,
But didn't hesitate to scream her piece to whoever told her that her opinion didn't count.
And between vague conversations in the neighborhood,
They thought she was spoiled and very young
"She will change when she matures."
But she became a woman and unfortunately for the ignorant,
She grew opinions more bitter than a leaf of sábila.
Where it said no,
She said yes.
She was not afraid of what they would say,
And she moved as if the world was hers.
She recited songs to the future
And laughed at the oppressor.
She said that life was too short to think for too long, and whoever said otherwise was nothing but wrong.
They also raised me running away from fear,
In past traumas and unconventional opinions.
I swore to life to do everything that one day was forbidden to the little girl who refused to play with barbies, and preferred to go out barefoot to play with the boys.
I swore my life to the women before me.
To my ancestors and my predecessors whose dreams were clouded by the submissive version of what society says about being a Black Woman.
To the girl inside my mother who dreamed of being an athlete, before being a mother.
To the girl inside my grandmother who was too young to even have a dream,
Before becoming a mother.
And constant and aware
That my essence is not welcomed,
In no society
No town,
No room,
No home;
I made myself mine.
Because being a Black Woman was evil in every mouth,
But if it was up to me,
I'd choose this beautiful curse another thousand times;
And I'd be born a Black Woman again,
In all my other lives.

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