Why would I stop writing? Why?
Writing everyday for a year was one of the best things I have done in a long time. It was wonderful to be blowdrying my hair and a thought would pop into my head. I could roll it around for a bit until my hair dried and then try to jot it down so I didn't let it escape my mind.
I loved trying to get something written before leaving for work. The deadline of it was super exciting.
I am not done yet. That is the feeling that is bubbling up inside me. I am once again buzzing with creative thoughts on how to take this blog and bring it back to life. I know I am not alone in my needing to share my stories. They matter. Once again, all I needed was one person to say, yes you should try that Melissa. They didn't say that my writing was stupid. They didn't say that my words didn't matter. They only gave me permission to try again. Thank you!
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.
Maya Angelou, "Still I Rise" from And Still I Rise: A Book of Poems.