It’s Going to be a Good Day Today

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, Still I Rise

This has been a depressing week. And usually depression is like something sinking from my chest to my feet. Rooting me to where I stand like cement mixed with quicksand. But today, I’m letting the depression be like steam, be like heat. And the heat is rising. Travelling through my lungs and released in tiny sighs, drawn out groans, maybe even soft cries.

So much in this world, in this short little life, is weighing me down, more than it should considering I live an average, middle class life. I’ve got it easier than most women, I think, I’ve got it easier than most black women. The things that should hold me down… don’t. I know I’m lucky. Why don’t I feel that way today?

I’ve heard that life only throws at you what it knows you can take. Life must think I can’t handle much, because not much has happened to me. I should consider that a blessing. My fragility is a blessing.

I would have rather died, I think that sometimes. Rather died than live Maya Angelou’s life. I doubt my own strength. The strength needed to simply press on, to simply survive.

Typing out these words, each tap tap tap of the white letters painted on black squares, it’s like steam seeping out of me. I deflate with every sentence complete.

In this poem, the narrator proclaims joy in the face of despair. It’s weird how the poem works for me. A smile cracks across dry lips, I feel my body softening.

I think I’m gonna have a good day today.

~Amanda Jerido-Katz