It seems that being assertive about your self-worth = arrogance to some.
Lashing back at me in that way just proves my point: you don’t think I’m worth it.
Newsflash: I do. And I am.
In my work, in my relationships, in my life.
I’ve had the following lobbed at me:
Too Much [EVERYTHING].
If me being authentic means it pushes people’s buttons? If my way of being is too much? Thank you. I’m livingÂ RIGHT.
And BTW? It ain’t arrogance if you can put your money where your mouth is. Being out, being kinky, being a speaker, a performer, a writer, takes a lot out of me: I need to be refueled, I need to be respected. I have high expectations for myself and those carry forward into my life.
Yes, I dare to demand.
Weird, huh? A Black woman, a black submissive woman, articulate and talented gets hit in the ego when she has the nerve….the audacity…the ovaries to stand and demand to be treated with respect and integrity?
To have the unmitigated gall to disagree with you? To be transparent?
Today I am holding on to the words of Ms. Maya Angelou, because she’s been talking the talk and walking the walk and setting the standard for as long as I have been able to hold aÂ bookÂ and decipher theÂ ciphersÂ and wonders of her text.
Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
A diva (/ËˆdiËvÉ™/; Italian: [ËˆdiËva]) is a celebrated female singer. The term is used to describe a woman of outstanding talent in the world of opera, and, by extension, in theatre, cinema and popular music. The meaning of diva is closely related to that of prima donna.
The word entered the English language in the late 19th century. It is derived from the Italian noun diva, a female deity. The plural of the word in English is “divas”; in Italian, dive [ËˆdiËve]. The basic sense of the term is goddess, the feminine of the Latin word divus (Italian divo), someone deified after death, or Latin deus, a god. The word is cognate with the Hindu term Devi meaning goddess (masculine Deva meaning god) which in turn originates from the ancient Sanskrit language, one of the earliest Indo-European languages; the word is also cognate with the Avestan term denoting the Zoroastrian concept of the Daevas and with the Lithuanian word deivÄ—, meaning a female deity.