Still I Rise

I remember 7th grade litature class at the second middle school I attended. The teacher assigned us a poetry assignment, we had to memorize a poem and recite it in front of the class. I hadn't really interacted with the class except for the first day when they announced that I was the new kid and made me spew a few facts about myself.


I remembered hearing a poem at the black history assebly at my old middle school that touched me even deep even though I'm not of African decent. It spoke to me as a women and as a women that knows that she strengths that she shouldn't be ashamed of. It was a long poem and a lot of work to momorize it fully. I recited it in front of the mirror, I recited it on tape and played it back for myself and recited it along with myself. I figured I better go big or don't go at all.

The poem, "Still I Rise," by Maya Angleou. Here it is:


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 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.