Summary

The text is a poignant reflection on the emotional toll and internal struggle faced by a Black woman amidst ongoing battles, juxtaposed with a longing for peace and solidarity.

Abstract

"For Them" delves into the emotional landscape of a Black woman who grapples with the pain of constant fighting and the societal pressures that ensue. Through vivid imagery, the author describes the act of metaphorically cutting holes in her heart, suggesting the depth of her emotional wounds. The piece reflects on the futility of tears and the desire for a soft, comforting presence that resonates with her own rhythm. It concludes with a spiritual longing for redemption and remembrance, echoing the sentiments of old Negro spirituals. The narrative invites readers to engage with stories that aim to change the world through the platform Fourth Wave, and encourages them to explore more works by the author that touch on themes of resilience and healing.

Opinions

The author conveys a sense of weariness and emotional fatigue from the relentless fight for recognition and justice.
There is a palpable frustration with the lack of tangible outcomes from the struggle, as reflected in the rhetorical questions about the effectiveness of crying and fighting.
The text suggests a yearning for a connection with others who share similar experiences and the need for a safe space to express vulnerability.
The author expresses a deep desire to honor and remember those who have been part of the struggle, indicating a sense of responsibility to carry their stories forward.
The piece implicitly critiques the societal forces that necessitate such a fight, while also celebrating the strength and resilience of those who continue to endure.
The reference to "old Negro spiritual songs" connects the current struggles to a historical context of resistance and hope for transcendence.
The author's invitation to follow Fourth Wave and submit stories implies a belief in the power of collective storytelling to enact positive change.

For Them

what happens in a black woman’s heart when fighting becomes too much

I cut holes in my heart on the regular

or rather I let the beasts in with their knives.

The headlines read and the slicing begins —

viscera and pink coming to life with red deep like roses,

like angry cheeks.

If I cry who will it help?

And if I fight who will win?

And if I just hold their names inside my mouth,

will anyone remember?

After the last notes are sung

on the dusty instrument of a tired throat,

where will they go?

I just want to hold something soft

whose heart matches the rhythm of mine.

I just want to curl up into something feathery

and drift away to that place that choirs sing about.

Or maybe I just want my words to fill the space with the voices

that wish to be heard.

Maybe I just want to be one of them old negro spiritual songs.

Tell Mary not to weep,

tell Martha not to moan…

I’m goin’ on down to Jordan

to wash clean this old ragged soul.

For more of the good stuff, follow Fourth Wave, where we’re changing the world for the better, one story at a time. Got one of your own? Submit to the Wave!

For more by this author, try:

Sexual Harassment Changed Me But Didn’t Break Me

Or the day I stopped smiling at men

medium.com

I Fell for Self-Healing

I am lying on my back and have been for hours now. I am trying to breath through what feels like a thick layer of lead…

medium.com