You bore me, and I am not subtle about it. I am actually quite loud about it. I make sure that you are fully aware that I am not your mother, nor your auntie, nor your next girlfriend/therapist/savior/saint. I retired being a martyr for men that do not deserve it a long time ago, and it turns out, that’s almost all of you niggas. I am the Black Feminist Bitch of your worst nightmares meaning, I treat you with the same compassion that you have treated women with for the past 100 generations.
If you haven’t rolled your eyes firmly to the back of your skull yet, I’d like to tell you why. The fact is, misogyny has raised us both. Taught us that your role is to provide, and mine is to take care of you. As a result, we are both tired. You haven’t cried in years. I haven’t taken care of myself in the same time. I have been too busy teaching you to sort through your past traumas, teaching you to love me properly while learning to love you, forgiving you for making the mistakes of both of our parents. You have been too busy letting me. Men, specifically Black men, have the weight of the world on their shoulders. That weight can be so distracting that you forget that you are standing on mine. None of this is news. However, your willingness to hear it for the hundredth time and still do nothing to change is why I will continue to pay you dust. Why I pack up all my good intentions and pour them back into myself, my friends, and the women in my family that have continually showed up for me. I am only offering my support to the ones that deserve and return it.
So to the men that don’t: The ones that hear me say, “Men are trash.” and scoff at the audacity. The ones that are so appalled at my lack of empathy for them that they label me “divisive” to the struggle. The ones so busy protecting their own egos that they have no energy left over to effect real change. Stop trying to convince me to soften up and save your breath. Save it for addressing the men that give you all a bad name. Save it for convincing them that women are deserving of your emotional labor and patience and compassion just as much as you are. Save it for the men that will always hear you over me. Because frankly, I am not listening.