diamonds at the meeting of my thighs

 [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 I rise 

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise 

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, 

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. 

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear 

I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear 

I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, 

I am the dream and the hope of the slave. 

I rise I rise I rise." 

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread 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 back yard.

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

—  Maya Angelou
In honor of International Women's Day I'd like to present you with the poem "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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Today is the final blackout of 2016 and I thought I should use this time to express things I have learned at 22 about being black, womxn and vulnerable:

1. Men lie. Men will lie to you in order to gain what they need and that falls under financial gain, sexual gain or even being an emotional crutch but, that does not define your worthiness of being kept. It just means the man you’re dealing with is swollen with imperfections and fears he is without courage to confront. Ask him about his mother, ask him about his father and you will know.

2. Being black is more than just the colour of your skin. It is a mental state of mind, it is an attitude is what Steve Biko’s Black Consciousness has taught me. I have lived in Green Bay, Luzern and I am an African who comes from a continent of which I am the majority so the cultural experiences I have come across this year have been beyond exponential. My body has been sexualized and fetishised for its small waist and robust buttocks features that, have been of descendant - direct in fact of Saartjie Baartman also known as Venus Hottentot was abducted and taken to the west from South Africa, a land from which I am from. In reading her story and many others I realised that the black narrative is about suffering, synonymous with overcoming.

3. Donald Trump and the Kardashians are one in the same to me. Both profit off of the backs of blk people, both marginilize and demonize blk womxn. America has begun to digress but, only because America never confronted a truth and reconciliation phase with slavery, with the abduction of West Africans coming to America therefore the existence of the black body has always been of consumption for the white man - be it labour, be it sex, be it profit, be it culture, be it our men. 

4. Part of being a black womxn is realizing that you are the bottom of the social pyramid simply for being; woman first and black second. Because this society that exists beyond continents deeply entrenched in the toxicity of mysogyny, patriarchy and racist mess does not view the black womxn as human. We are degraded, raped, abused and all of these happenings are justified. That’s the scary factor - everyone assumes that they have entitlement over the blk womxn except for the blk womxn.

5. From point 1 - 4 is a soul breaking realisation of what being a black woman in society has been/become over the years even centuries yet, see how we have overcome. In which I recite Maya Angelou’s Still I Rise because in the havoc and darkness of being black and woman - we really and truly are beautiful:

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread 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 back yard.

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

— 

Maya Angelou

Her epic poem “Still I Rise.” Never gets old for me. NEVER. ❤

Escape: the wedding plans

“Claire.  We’ll just go in and have a wee look, aye?”

Claire stared through the glass.  She bit her lip.  She’d told him no, that it wasn’t practical, not what she wanted. Damn, stubborn Scot.  She was very conscious of him behind her.  Waiting.  Tense.  Him calling her Claire was a sure sign that this was a formal occasion to him, and the topic would not go away. 

Turning, she slipped her arms around his waist, under his jacket.  She rested her head on his chest, feeling the cool of his sweater and the scratch of his scarf under her cheek.  Jamie hugged her, his hands following her spine to the small of her back.  Cold air swirled around them, the breeze picking up the tendrils of her hair.  He watched the strands dance around her head and thought for the millionth time how beautiful she was to him. 

“Jamie.  I love you, but it’s just not feasible for a future surgeon.  I’ll lose it, or misplace it.  I can never wear it to work!  Why should we bother?”

Jamie huffed.  “Because I want to.  I want ye to have an engagement ring. I want….” he hesitated.  How to explain?  He wanted to claim her, which was archaic, he knew, but he also wanted to honour her, which wasn’t modern either.  He was a traditionalist. It felt wrong not to give Claire a ring after asking her to marry him.  He shook his head, hoping the right words would fall out.

“Jamie…”  Claire looked up at him.  She tugged at him, as if to shake some sense in him.  

The stubborn set of his jaw, and his narrowed eyes warned her that she wasn’t going to win this round.  Looking isn’t buying, Beauchamp.

“Alright.  We’ll just look.  Okay?  No buying anything.”

At her capitulation Jamie jumped into motion.  “Aye. Okay. Sure.” He stepped back and grabbed her hand.  “Come, Sassenach.”  


They were all beautiful.  Every one was more extravagant than the last.  Yet none of the rings suited Claire.  Her hands were delicate, her fingers long, and the larger the stone, the more gaudy it looked on her.  Finally Claire had to ask the jeweler to give them a few minutes privacy so they could talk.

She tried again.  “Jamie….”

“Dinna say it.  I get it.”  He leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly between his legs. 

Claire tried to get him to meet her eyes.  “Are you angry?”

Jamie blew out a long breath.  “Aye. If I’m honest.  I’m angry that we canna find something to suit ye.  I’m angry that I canna give my future wife a diamond.  I’m angry that I canna get past the idea that ye must have a ring.”

“Jamie, love, I’ll have a ring.”  She rested her hands on his thighs and rubbed gently.  “A band.  A perfect wedding band that I will wear proudly.  But a diamond isn’t practical.”  Claire could see his disappointment. 

“Besides,” she drew the chain out from under her shirt, “I have my key.  This means more to me than you can imagine.  This makes me yours.”  

Jamie reached out a hand and held the key that Claire wore without fail, every day, against her heart.  His lopsided smile eased the tension in her heart just a bit.  She stood to leave, and Jamie stood with her.

As they passed the glass cases on their way to the door, something caught Claire’s eye.  She stopped so abruptly that Jamie had to grab her hips to steady her as he bumped her from behind.

“Excuse me!”  Claire looked up for the salesman, her finger resting on the glass pointing to a ring. 

Jamie looked over her shoulder as the jeweler handed it to her.  That?

“Where did you get it?” Claire asked, examining the ring and turning it around in her fingers.  

“It was from an estate sale,” the man looked at Jamie.  “If I remember correctly, the estate was named Mackenzie.  The ring is verra unique, 16th Century, I believe.”

Claire scoffed, “18th Century at best. Jacobean.”  The salesman blinked in surprise. Jamie smiled.  

He looked at the ring in her hand.  The wide silver band, decorated in the Highland interlace style, had a small thistle bloom in the centre of each link.

Claire turned to face him, and his heart stopped at the smile on her face.  He could see it in her whisky coloured eyes. This was the one; this was the ring.  It wasn’t what he imagined, nor was it what he would have chosen, but if it spoke to Claire then she would have it. They had it sized, then Jamie left explicit instructions, and handed over his credit card.

“Unusual choice, Mr. Fraser.”

Jamie nodded, and glanced at Claire wandering around the shop.  Ye have no idea.  

“Ah, weel, she’s an unusual lady.”

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise

—  Maya Angelou - Still i rise
Pomegranate Seeds

Requested

Based on the word “Dalliance”


[Summer]

Draco meets her in June. All cotton candy smiles and diamond eyes, a sundress brushing against her thighs. There’s a wand tucked behind her ear and water dripping, dripping from her fingertips as she smiles at him, knots her fingers behind her back and sways in the sweltering breeze.

Draco meets her in June and is spellbound/ entranced/ enchanted by her fluttering lashes, thin wrists, a laugh that settles like a butterfly in her throat and the butterflies trapped behind his ribs.

“Y/N,” she tells him, extends a hand. “My family’s renting the manor next door for the summer.”

And he knows who she is. Has heard his parents lament more than once about the sort that live next door, the blood traitors and mudbloods, the disgraces. He doesn’t quite care, though, not as he takes her hand and watches a smile – molasses slow and sugar sweet – blossom across her mouth.

He can feel her fate lines pressing against his. Can’t help but think that he never did believe in coincidences.

___

“Just for the summer,” they tell each other, legs tangled in his bedsheets and fingers laced together. Salt-slick sweat sliding down the notches of his back as he presses chapped lips to hers, presses warm hands against her thighs.

“Just for the summer,” they say, as he hides her from his mother/hides her from the truth.

Because there’s a mark on his arm and a task on his shoulders and loving her feels like he’s being robbed.

“I know something’s wrong,” she tells him. And Draco is two months past scribbling her name in the margins in his notebook, dreaming about how she tucks her tongue between her teeth, tucking a sun blurred photograph of her beneath his pillow. Only –

“It’s almost September,” he tells her, all bitter sweet and bitter sour. “Don’t you think it’s about time that we give this up?”

She doesn’t say anything. Lingers like a ghost on the bed beside him. Soft breath and tentative fingers as she brushes through his hair. And he would’ve thought, if he hadn’t known better, that her eyes swept over his forearm before she left.

“Just for the summer,” they said,

But Draco never has been good at keeping promises.

___

[Fall]

Draco sees her in September. All pink cheeks and scarf fluttering in the wind as she boards the Hogwarts express. Glances at him as she walks by. Brushes her fingers against his shoulder because she knows that the whorls of her fingerprint are embedded there like a tattoo.

He didn’t tell her that he had more than one.

And he watches her for three days, four, thinks he’s falling like autumn leaves against the pavement; rust red and copper yellow, bruised orange and scarlet brown. He’s falling and he can’t quite help himself, no, not when his constellation is already in the sky.

He catches her after class. Knots his fingers around her wrist and pulls her into a cupboard and kisses her. Kisses her with trembling knees, mouths and fingers and heartache. How they don’t say, “It’s only for the fall”. They’ve already fallen. And Draco’s fingers are shaking as he tucks her hair behind her ear.

___

The first snow falls in November,

And Draco tells her that he loves her beneath the frost bent boughs of the ash tree. Thinks how he’s a boy with a sharp tongue and wicked smile who shouldn’t be doing this, no, shouldn’t be playing with hearts.

There’s a gun in his mouth; he’s aching to tell her.

Only, there’s nothing better than a slender boy with a handgun and a dream.

He tells her he loves her and she smiles, laughs, wraps her hands around his neck and says that she loves him too.

“It’s only for the fall.” All the words they don’t say.

Draco wants to string up caution tape and scrub the evidence clean. Obliviate the witness and swallow the bullets and take it all back. Only –

He wraps his scarf around her neck, laces their fingers together in bed. Writes fucking odes to the brilliance of her eyes and the soft of her mouth and doesn’t realize that he’s Hades and she’s Persephone and there are pomegranate seeds stuck between her teeth.

He knows how this one ends.

Draco tells her the truth in December,

And it’s like watching the world unravel before his eyes.

[Winter]

Draco breaks her heart in December. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Because he rolls up his sleeve with quavering fingers and she grabs her clothes off the floor, says, “I can’t believe you,” before leaving.

He can’t quite blame her, no, not when he wants to run away, too.

He’s a robber without a getaway car, with an albatross around his neck and he’s drowning, drowning, drowning.

___

Draco tries to kill Dumbledore in December.

Only succeeds in cursing Katie Bell and it isn’t until later, when he’s lying on the bathroom floor and Potter’s standing over him, blood on his shirt and blood on his hands and blood pooling in the water leaking from one of the broken faucets, that he thinks about her.

About how she’d left and how her clothes are still in his dresser and her picture is still under his pillow and her name is still stitched onto the softer parts of his heart.

He thinks he sees her in the hospital wing, when he’s turning over and looking through a haze. Thinks he hears her murmur “It’s just for the winter”.

But when he wakes up the only thing that’s there is his scarf looped around the chair.

___

[Spring]

Draco sees her in April. All earnest smiles and soft laughter beneath the wilting mistletoe tree. Draco sees her, and she sees him, and he can’t quite help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

She hesitates for a heartbeat of a second, melting snow and dulled edges, before she raises her hand and tips her mouth, allows her eyes to flicker to his forearm before she glances back up at him.

Draco kisses her beneath the cherry red boughs of the mistletoe tree, all locked knees and hands, fingers, heartbeats. “It’s only for the spring,” she murmurs and he should tell her, can’t tell her – not yet – that it’s never going to be enough.

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

—  Maya Angelou

I’ll make a bigger post answering a few asks sent my way, but here are my basic thoughts from the episodes.

I think it confirms that WD is alive, but indisposed.

Outlawing fusion is relatively recent in gem-society, as is the diamond-rule.

YD and BD are subordinate to WD.

PD may have been intended as WD’s replacement. Unlikely.

PD may have accidentally been shattered by another Diamond. I do not think this is likely, and I still think it was orchestrated by RQ.

Those zircons’ heads would still pop like grapes between Moonstone’s thighs and I want them to meet more than ever.

Someone needs to alert Yellow and Blue when they’re travelling so they don’t keep emerging into places looking like they’ve been caught at a bad time.

Still, I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread 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 back yard.

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
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

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

— 

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread 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 back yard.

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

— 

Maya Angelou

My favourite of all of her work, and one of the most powerful things I’ve ever read. RIP Maya, your words will live on forever.

Maya Angelou - Still I Rise

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

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 back yard.

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
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

—  Maya Angelou, Still I Rise
youtube

Nicki Minaj recites ; Maya Angelou “Still I rise” poem. This poem is so powerful and fits nicki so well. I really. Really love everything about this.

 Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014
 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 I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise