Still I Rise

Since Maya Angelou passed away, I have been rereading some of her poetry, and came across this one again.

Parts of it remind me of the LGBT rights movement; how we, as a community are denigrated, called less than, treated as though we don't belong and don’t deserve equality, but, still, we rise….

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.

RIP Maya Angelou

Quiet please, Maya Angelou has passed.

The award-winning author, renowned poet and civil rights activist Dr. Maya Angelou died last night at the age of 86, but what a life she lived, what a voice she had, and oh the things she said and did.

Poet. Novelist. Educator. Producer. Actress. Filmmaker, Civil rights activist. Singer. Dancer. And even, at just 14, San Francisco’s first African-American female cable car conductor.

Affectionately referred to as Dr. Angelou, she never went to college, though she received over 50 honorary degrees and was Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University.

 “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Angelou got into writing after a childhood tragedy that kept her from speaking for years: at age 7, her mother’s boyfriend raped her, and he was later beaten to death by a mob after she testified against him.

“My 7-and-a-half-year-old logic deduced that my voice had killed him, so I stopped speaking for almost six years.”

From the silence, a louder voice was born. A voice that spoke to all people regardless of color or age or gender or orientation.

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,

When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,

When he beats his bars and would be free;

It is not a carol of joy or glee,

But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,

But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings –

I know why the caged bird sings.

Maya should have the last word, via her last Tweet:

RIP