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Mother of Civilization

Mother of Civilization

“I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.”     -Song of Solomon 1:5


Dear Reader,

I am excited to launch this new literary movement geared towards the elevation of African-American women. My mission is to denounce all the myths and crucifixions weighed on their backs from a society driven on extremely biased beauty and unrealistic physical attributes. Some people may agree with me, others may disagree and it is their right to do so. Nevertheless, there will be a host of articles and essays dedicated to the plight of African-American women, their identity and their personal experiences.

Although many of my postings might be seen as controversial, I make no apology for writing things based on my own personal experience as a Black Woman and other Black women in general. Starting this site has been my greatest pleasure because I am giving people a look at life through the eyes of Black women, revealing secret places locked within her. 

In each article I post on this site, I will guide people of all races and genders through the taboo emotions that Americans feel Black women don’t have. Emotions we were not allowed to express because the elders in our family scolded us for verbally and sometimes physically every time we let it show. I intend to show the nation and our world that we DO have a gentle side, we CAN love deep, we CAN be respectful,  we CAN be as vulnerable as the next person and YES,  we DO shed our share of tears! We are not that big bad mama you been told about by people who don’t know the real truth on just how irresistably BEAUTIFUL Black Women are! We ooze femininity. We are delicate, passionate and intelligent in every way possible… just as much as our European, Latino, Asian and other sisters around the globe do!

Prepare to be schooled. Class is now in session…


Arose N Daghetto (a.k.a Beautiful Black Woman)


You can also feel free to check out the poetic version of this Blogsite by visiting :


I am writing this post in regards to the readers I’ve pissed off over the few years of this blog’s existence on the web. The hate email can keep coming in, it may be read or it may not, either way it’s going straight in the trash and I’m gonna keep the blogs and conversations moving.

First to my readers who have appreciated the Black Women Are Beautiful Theory and could relate, Thank you. Thank you for reading my posts and for your comments. Even those who didn’t leave a comment but read the posts and could relate to the discussions, Thank you. To those who support my blog by subscribing or sharing the posts with other like-minded people, thank you. Much love to each in every one of you.

Second, to the people I pissed off let me get something straight, right now… If you feel left out because I didn’t speak about the hardships that the Irish people face and their ancestors who suffered slavery, then YOU write a blog about that. I am not “responsible” for writing about the hardships of the Irish people.  I am only “responsible” for writing about the concerns of my people, those of African descent and what we faced and continue to face.

Those who preach, “It’s not a Black and White Issue”, “I thought we were past this issue” and the classic, “We may be of different complexions but when we bleed, our blood is red” I get all that, understand all that, but it don’t change the challenges nor the experiences those different people who bleeds red experiences still have to fight through. Again, I am not responsible for writing a blog on that either.

For those of you who are of African descent and shout “Why Black people have to make it a racial thing? Can‘t we all just get along?” I am not responsible for writing a blog on those views either. Perhaps you might have been among the very few privileged blacks who have not had the burden of wrestling with who you are and what you are.  If you who are of color has never experienced any hints of racial negativity then good for you, consider yourself blessed. Don’t piss yourself off by reading this blog, it wasn’t written for you. If you feel adamantly against my blog, then YOU have to create YOUR OWN BLOG that speaks to those issues of YOUR heart and beliefs. This is not my responsibility to do at this point in my time. Maybe later on who knows, but as FOR NOW my only responsibility and concern is tackling the biased issues that makes most Black women struggle with themselves and their relationships from a PSYCHOLOGICAL perspective.  Some Black folks will appreciate it, some will despise it. That is not my worry nor my problem. You can’t make everyone happy all of the time, even your own culture of people. I’ll live.

For those of you who contest, “What about the gay and lesbians who struggle with issues of identity, acceptance and worth?” Again, that is not my responsibility or my purpose of this blog. If you feel my blog is being exclusive of your rights and struggles gay or lesbian people then again, it is up to YOU to create YOUR OWN blog that address those issues and caters to the needs of YOUR community.

The ONLY purpose my blog has is to EDUCATE, HEAL and ELEVATE the BEAUTY OF BLACK WOMEN. I only care about debunking the “Angry Black Woman” myth by helping to expose the roots of the problem as well as the solutions. I am only responsible for writing what I know about, which is the misfortunes that psychologically impairs the minds of Black people, especially Black women.

I am NOT dismissing ANY of your plights. All mistreatment of any person of any kind is an unfortunate situation, but the only thing I can do is build MY house in MY community FIRST before I even attempt to try to build other people’s houses in other people’s communities.

I am looking to not only shed light on the causes  for the dilemmas of Black women, but to help contribute some solutions.  I’m not some Black extremist looking to cause any kind of militia groups and attack people. I’m not a communist, racist, or any of those things. If YOU think I am then that’s YOUR problem, NOT MINE. All I’m doing is catering to a much neglected issues that MOST BLACK WOMEN (INCLUDING MYSELF) face, hostility we give to one another, hostility from the men we love, hostility from Corporate America, hostility from many (not all) non blacks period. I’m looking to help Black women rediscover themselves and re-parent themselves so that they can release the anger and any other negative behavior that makes it so hard for them to deal with other people without feeling like they have to get defensive or for some, desperate.

The Black Women Are Beautiful Theory (now renamed as The Black Women Are Beautiful Movement) was created for personal reasons.  Much of what I’ve written on here came from my personal experiences or that of those near and dear to me. I created this blog for myself, the women in my family, and those in my ancestral line who I never met, but heard their life stories. I also created this blog for those who also had similar struggles and, like me, have not found the right type of information or person to help them tackle those issues head on.  I firmly believe that with understanding and education, women of color can better understand themselves and the source of their anger and depression. Once they come to terms with the source, they can then cross that bridge to the solutions, so they can heal themselves and become better mothers, wives, girlfriends and children. To accomplish that,  a lot of undesirable things have to put on the table and dealt with… that including history because history plays a major role in how we function as an individual.

A large part of our identity and behavioral habits are inherited from our ancestors. This is why our biggest challenge as Black women and Black men is one of a psychological factor. Freedom is there for us physically, but mentally, many of us are still struggling in bondage.

Our world has changed dramatically. The younger generations have the fortune of being reared in a very culturally diverse and (for the most part) tolerant society. However, there is still a large demographics who still have not moved past old issues that seem to keep them from fully enjoying life in this more culturally diverse society. However, there are many places where there are Blacks against blacks, Latino’s against Blacks, Light Latinos against dark Latinos, Blacks from Africa against Blacks in America, Caribbean’s against Blacks, Black Portuguese (such as  Cape Verdeans, Brazilians, etc.) against White Portuguese. Regardless of age or location, there is still this issue of race and class that continues to keep people of color psychologically crippled. 

With that being said, I do have only ONE apology to make, and that IS to any of my readers who are Latina, Brazilian, Biracial- anyone who has lived parts of the African diaspora in other places of the world. Whether you live in the Americas, The Caribbean, Europe- or anywhere in the world. I appreciate your readership and encourage you to share YOUR stories because that help others to see that it is a global situation. It also helps me to learn more about how the issues of color, race and social status impacts your life from where you are.

I’ve spent the last two years studying race and racial relations in the communities abroad and I had no idea, there was such a heated animosity between other cultures. One of those is examples is the decades long battle between the Dominicans and the Puerto Ricans. One of those arguments I observed between them in both Spanish and English is who is more superior in race based on who has more African in their blood verses who has more European in their blood verses who has more Indigenous (Native American) in their blood. Being self-taught in both the Spanish, Portuguese languages and  French languages, I’ve observed these arguments are similar in almost ever discussion. Therefore I continue to study, interview and learn from these cultures and add their plight with the plight of African-Americans in regards to how race and class impairs their psychological well-being. These discussions help bring an awareness that this is not only a United States issue, but it’s a global issue.

To sum it all up one more time, if any of you feel my blog is too one-sided then YOU create YOUR OWN blog and write about the things YOU feel so passionately for or against. There is a market for everyone as well as a cause. You just have to find your place like I‘ve found mine.

If any of you who oppose what I write yet continues to visit my blog and read my postings, then either you’re intrigued, looking to provoke something, or you just enjoy thoroughly pissing yourself off for no apparent reason.

By the way, you can keep call me all the nigger, bitch, jungle bunny, tar baby, blackie or any other racially/sexually offensive name you want to call me in your comments and emails… Your display of ignorance only proves my point that race and class is still very much an issue in this day and age. Not much changed.

Say what you will and KNOW I’m not the LEAST bit afraid or intimidated by any one of you or your comments.  And if any of you haters THINK for one minute I’m going to close down this blog and cease writing about race relations because I pissed you off, then dream on, I ain’t going NO WHERE. The only way this blog cease and desist is if WordPress themselves shuts it down. And if they do then I will just simply take my work to another blog site and post it there, create a web domain, write more books on the subject, etc., etc. So it doesn’t begin here and it most certainly will not end here.

Lastly, African descent or not, those who want what I have to offer on this page can take of it and blossom from it. Those who don’t want what I have to offer can just wave it off and keep it moving. It’s all good one way or another. I’ll keep writing and have a GOOD NIGHTS REST regardless.

That’s all I have to say about this situation and will not be bother to devote any more of my precious time addressing ignorant and the hypocritical who write me in the future. Keep writing your remarks behind the safety of your little computer and I will keep writing what’s important to me while deleting what’s unimportant.  For further reference, read the First Amendment… you know, the one that speaks about “FREEDOM OF SPEECH, EXPRESSION, AND PRESS”.

I’ve said it. I’m done. Now I’m keeping it moving…

Arose N Daghetto


A big thank you to my faithful readers and for your comments. I appreciate all the positive feedback you’ve given and for your open-mindedness. Much respect.

I know it’s been some time since I posted anything new but I assure you that there will be some new postings coming within the next month. I’ve been working on publishing my first book of poetry and have been busy contributing to other writing projects including various writing competitions and magazines publishers.

My first priority will be continuing on with the series of “Why Are Black Women So Angry…” since was where I last left off. I have many more great things to share with you… and I also welcome any questions or requests you might have about Black women. I will be happy to discuss any questions or comments (good and negative)  in upcoming topics.

I still remain very diligent in proudly celebrating, educating and encouraging a forum of discussion about the so-called “Angry Black Woman” stereotypes. Tolerance comes from understanding the cause. The beauty of a Black woman’s spirit comes from removing that savage, emasculated mask bolted to her face by society. The achievement of peace with Black woman is to learn how to handle her. To see what makes her human is to expose her vulnerabilities and to know how to speak her language… emotionally, spiritually and mentally.  

Again, thank you for reading and I will be posting new material very soon.  Peace.

What if Othello’s first love was actually a Black woman? Imagine the inconsolable grief she must have felt when he told her one day he no longer loved her. The devastation she must have felt when he suddenly left her to be with his new love Desdemona?

Though this never actually happened in Shakespeare’s Othello, it would be quite interesting to see what secrets Othello really could have packed away in that soul of his. Anyway, if there was such a twist to this fictional story, I think this would be how it would play out…

A Letter From Othello's Past       By Arose N Daghetto Othello, thy Moorish queen is here. Look at me. Do not be afraid. Let the shame be thy testimony to thy deepest sorrow. Speak into the eyes of thine neglect. Rebuke the lust thou is hoarding for thy fair maiden. ‘Tis I, thy first bride whom thou soul once loveth. Wipe the tears that scar these cheeks, I pray thee! Remove the crown of bitterness I tarried since the day thou bidest me farewell. Dost thou well to see me beg like a Philistine dog at … Read More

via Literature Voodoo



Black women are in a psychological storm every day of their lives. They constantly struggle with the pressures of having to work so hard to gain acceptance and approval from their white peers and other Black men. They fight to earn respect from their Corporate America, the legal system, the continuing education system, their social economic structure, and the health care system. They go to war in personal lives whether it be with their children, family members, or typically their black male counterparts.

These long standing conditions force Black women to ditch the damsel in distress identity given to them by a male dominated society and adapt the duo identities of Superman and the Incredible Hulk.

Due to the absence of Black men in the family from patriarch to matrimony, Black women have been left with no choice but to rely on the plethora of strong Black women in their families and within their community. The absence of Black men in their lives as loving fathers, faithful leaders, and doting husbands caused Black women to embark on this lifelong quest of finding ways to deal with that void through lifestyle changes, becoming emotionally nonexistent, and projecting antagonizing behavior towards anyone who showed even the slightest hint of compassion and excessive spending.

Not only are Black women in competition with the world, we are in competition with ourselves.

Dark skinned women compete against the light-skinned women in the board room, the bed room and the runway. Good hair gets the favor over the not so good of hair. Stick figures envy those with curves. Big girls fighting hard to get half the men their skinnier sisters have. The shame a single woman with children feels when she crosses paths with another single woman with no kids. The hatred one woman who’s a high school dropout has when she sees a bourgeois college educated woman passing by her housing unit with her rolling briefcase.

In Jones and Gooding’s Book, Shifting: The Double Lives of Black Women in America, the Inferiority Complex is further defined through several case studies of women who experienced inferiority in different social settings: Corporate America, social services, government assistance programs, group meetings, etc. 

“Many of the women in our study lamented that when they finally prove to others that they are hard-working, refined and intelligent, non-Blacks often deem them to be “exceptional” or “different from” other Black people. Ironically, some (Black women) may temporarily benefit from the myth of Black women’s inferiority, gaining a kind of acceptance in certain circles, and a platform for success in certain careers, because they are considered “unique”, “better than” other women of color.”


I remember being told by several of my Caribbean and African friends that Black people have to work ten times harderand produce ten times more the work with ten times better in quality in order to gain the upper hand of inferiority.  They must learn how to  never miss a day out of work if possible. If you can work sick, you go to work sick.  Always be punctual in everything you do. Don’t just come in on time, come in fifteen minutes early or even a half hour early. This way you don’t give “The Man” any reason to talk about. How is he going to talk about an employee, even a Black employee, if he can’t find any fault in them? And if he does nag you, just keep being punctual, keep working ten times harder and producing ten times more than the average non-Black employee. Let “The Man” talk his talk, to your face and behind your back… let them underestimate you all he wants,  just keep smiling, don’t say a word back at them, just let your work speak the volumes you wish you can speak to his face.

So in other words, you have to take the abuse to be of good use in Non Black society. Grin and bear it, and take the lashes, accept the blows,  and someday you will eventually become “somebody” in their book. You might be stretched out on your back in exhaustion or buried six feet under because you didn’t quite make it, but one thing will be for sure, you’ve become “somebody” in their corporate yearbook. Not fair, not right.. but in reality, it is the truth. Not only the truth, but the key to corporate and economic survival.

In  one of their case studies, a woman by the name of Francine, “a high-ranking manager at a pharmaceutical company, expressed how overwhelmingly annoyed she was of not being seen as an authentic Black woman, or as the authors state, a “true Black”.  Francine states, “When you’re Black and competent, White people see you as an exception to the rule. I can’t tell you how many times a White person has told me that I’m different from most Black people. It’s very insulting.”

She then goes into the specifics of her statement, as in what exactly wows a White person when they meet a “competent Black person”:

“I think they mean you’re articulate, you can hold a conversation, you can talk about world events, you read the paper, you know how to use the computer, you have one in your house, you’ve got a family structure, you have a sister and a brother and they’re all doing well too… I think they’re complimenting me, but what they’ve really done is smack you across the face… I have felt ashamed that somehow I’ve portrayed myself in a way that makes them think I’m a better person because I’m not “Black”, because I’ve assimilated so much that I get this great pat on the back from them, and somehow I kind of divorced myself from my true being.”

Francine states how she succeeded in making White people (and other Non Blacks in general) think she’s this better better person because she’s “assimilated herself” in a way to show them that she was not ghetto, or “not Black”. 

Let’s look closer at what she means by “assimilated herself”.  Assimilate, in this context, means she morphed herself to fit into an identity or group of people most commonly accepted by the general society. That means abandoning one’s upbringing, heritage, personality, speech, way of dress, change of personal preferences (i.e. classical music over R&B, learning how to ski over watching a basketball game, dropping all your African-American friends to hang out with a predominately White crowd or other Non Black crowd, etc.). Such assimilation can also go extreme, as it has so often, by changing one’s physical features (i.e. skin bleaching, hair straightening and lengthening, nose narrowing, changing eye color ,etc.), marrying into race groups and having children whose features would likely favor after the European side than that of the Afrocentric side, and so on.

Some people who tend to have a less sympathetic approach to Francine’s story might view the term assimilate as simply a means making an ass of oneself for the gratification and acceptance of the majority rule. However, such behavior is often a catch 22 for Black women because in order to get that good paying job, keep that good paying job, and to move up the ladder to acquire even better pay at that good paying job, assimilating into a Non Black woman, or tapping into her “inner White girl”. By converting into this whole other idenity, she would more likely keep her job, a roof over her head, food on the table and that nice luxury car she drive in and out of her driveway everyday. Thus assimilate will help her to survive in what is very much seen as still a White dominated society. As ridiculous or controversial as it may seem, this is the reality of many Black women. “Shifting” from Black to White in the Office, White to Black at her home is the only resource she has in order to survive. There is no room to jeopardize her status as breadwinner- single or married, mother or motherless- whatever it takes to get them bills paid is what she would do, even if she has to prostitute her integrity to do it.

In another case story, readers learn about a young homeless woman named Samantha whose intelligence and beauty overshadowed the fact that she was a homeless woman in dire need of some type of financial, food and other relative assistance. She recalls her experience of seeking public assistance. Because her demeanor showed one thing with the people who reviewed her case, they completely overlooked her proven hardships that would have otherwise proven her eligibility:

“They didn’t see me as needing anything because of my demeanor, my ability to speak well, the fact that I can carry a conversation and still make sense. Basically, I was told I didn’t qualify for anything even though I was homeless and even though I showed proof. I went through hell just to get the little bit I have now.”

 Young Black women like Samantha who find themselves slipping deeper into the cracks of poverty are more likely to engage in illegal drug activities as a way of redeeming herself and her children (if any) from the gutters of life.  Like many Black men, she might resort to selling drugs in efforts to obtain the wealth she otherwise would never obtain in a legitament lifestyle. 

If a Black woman isn’t engaged in peddling drugs through her community, she might shoplift, sell her body, or even pimp (yes, pimp) other young women like herself. Although it is usually men, Black, white or otherwise, that pimp women, there are quite a few women emerging as female pimps and they can just as brutal as the male pimps.  The shocking thought of  Black women in particular further degrading their fellow sisters through pimping or managing “stables” (the street term for a group of female prostitutes) for their pimps- male or female- is a travesty in and of itself. However, in a dog eat dog world, all her ethics and compassion are tossed into the winds of reality.  It is no longer a matter of right verses wrong, hungry children verse full, healthy and satisfied children.

Thus she becomes a vigilante, fighting for what’s hers, paving roads of opportunity in the wilderness. For her, there is no time to wait for the Corporate and Government system to come around and give her the promotion or raise she spent the last decade or so breaking her back to earn. She knows jail time would eventually be the end result, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

In Michael Porter’s book, The Conspiracy to Destroy Black Women, he further supports the above arguement by stating the following:

“Poor African communities that have large numbers of female headed households and unemployed men and teens are a cocaine producer’s dream.  Some of the oppressed and depressed African Americans will try to escape [their hardships] via crack cocaine while othrs seek to obtain the American Dream by selling crack [weed, or other forms of narcotics].”

For many Black people, male and female, they consider drug selling as their way out of a dead-end life. A way to make fast money and become less inferior to society. For them, selling and doing drugs are their freedom road, refuge from a dark and dreary life of being a nobody chasing empty dreams. They view drugs as this taboo opportunity to make more of themselves and their lives,  materialistically rather than non-materialistically. 

Inferiority backs Black women into every corner of their lives, turning them into a helpless case in both professional relationships, personal relationships, and intimate relationships. prejudgment, underestimation, and immediate dismissals of people most important to a Black woman cripples her emotionally and sabotages her self-esteem. If they profess their low expectations of her skills and talents, she not only begins to internalize their criticism but also she incorporates these discouraging thoughts and words into her own belief system. She submits her ego to the low standards she was pigeonholed in, allowing the shadow of negativity to be her compass in her life’s journey rather than a positive light that could lead her to bigger and better things.

The inferiority complex is a mythological disaster. Inferiority creates depression. Depression creates anger. Anger creates retaliation. Retaliation creates destitution. Destitution creates bitterness. Bitterness creates desperation. Desperation creates desperation.

So is there anything Black women ARE dominate?

The only thing Black women DO dominate in is that we LEAD in the number of AIDS cases reported in the United States. We LEAD in high blood pressure and heart disease. We LEAD in diabetes. We LEAD teenage pregnancies. We LEAD as single mothers. We LEAD in being graduates of single parent homes. We LEAD in the number of high school dropouts (although our numbers isn’t as high as that of our fellow Black men). When it comes to positive, Black women fall behind in record numbers as being incompetent and unworthy. However, when it comes to all things inferior, we LEAD the nation hands down. Is it a conspiracy theory? An irreversible generational curse? Or is it that we were born into these despicable roles because our bloodline show that we are naturally a community of physically strong, emotionally unwavering people.


Up next, Part 3: Unshakibility, better known as The Superwoman Curse

Article Written By Arose N Daghetto (a.k.a A Beautiful Black Woman)


“Why waste lumber to make a house with one room? Where would your guests stay?”


Do you know her story? Her real story?

There is more than just a story behind why Black women are so aggressive, there is truth. Deep embedded pain behind her authoritative voice. There is the ailing heart she tries to protect through her vicious temper. The forbidden vulnerability behind the veil she drapes over her face. A veil that gives Black women power to portray themselves as the meanest, baddest bitches ever to slide though the birth canal of womanhood. The suicidal tears behind the locked doors and unanswered calls. Her rock bottom state of mourning. The will she lost to keep returning to the frontlines to win the uphill battle.

You have to understand, that wall we put up is like the veil we drape over our faces. Both the wall and the veil are a facade. Black women depend on these two things religiously as it helps us to gain control over things, people, and opportunities  we cannot control. Things, people, and opportunities we cannot have.  Black women are some of the most fragile women on earth, but the need to live up to that unemotional, undefeatable Alpha Woman image that society pigeonhole us into a box that forbids us to unleash the raw emotion that we truly own. Naked emotion that explicitly defines us as a profound member of the female race. The mirror image of femininity.  

Black women have been force-fed the image of uncivilized, unattractive, violent, over sexual, super butch with a bad attitude to boot. How often have you seen a Black woman accepted as her natural self without skin bleaching, nose narrowing, hair straightening, weave wearing, starving to be thin enhancements the male driven society pressures us to adapt to so that we may obtain the slightest favor from them. These are the lengths Black women will so desperately go to just to get the slightest hint of acceptance from society. A mere taste of affection from a man. A sufficient feeling of being genuinely desired for who she is and not for what she is expected to be. Black women dedicate their lives trying to prove their eligibility in the human race, especially the female race where beauty and image is everything.

The wall is a Black woman’s saving grace. It’s the fortress that protects us from getting our hopes up high. It sustains us when we face rejection and disappointments. It gives us space to hate you when you abuse our trust. The wall helps us to deal with who and what we cannot have. It gives us privacy to grieve and really get down to the nitty-gritty of sorrow without the world bearing witness. It’s the only way we can isolate ourselves so we can let it all hang out and not be judged. The wall is our home away from home. Our secret place from a brutal society.

In this five-part blog series, I’m going to take you around that wall to help you understand what’s really going on with “The Angry Black Woman” on the other side of that wall. It’s not what you think or what you heard.

Most Black women built this wall from infancy. A woman marked for poverty before conception and reared into a world of second class citizenship before she was able to talk. She is usually the woman surrounded by absent male leaders, only being acquainted with abusive and sexually perverted men. Her circle of female role models tend to be love struck women consumed with satisfying the hollow unappreciative men in their lives for fear of losing him to another  woman. Women who do anything and everything for the men in their lives but little to nothing for the little girl who so desperately need their love and attention.

The yoke poverty weight heavier on her when this neglected little Black girl crossed the threshold of womanhood. I’m not just  talking about material poverty, I’m talking about emotional poverty, such as being deprived of one or both parents or being put in a box by teachers or classmates because of her looks. She was brainwashed young by her peers and elders alike to believe that there was something developmentally, intellectually, and physically wrong with her.

Life taught Black Women early in their existence to be emotional masons. Her elders beat the theory in her until it became a way of life. With every disappointment she faced, she lied down another brick to her foundation. Every traumatic event she experienced was the glue she used to bind her bricks together. Every loss she suffered she built her wall higher. She built the wall higher and higher until she couldn’t see, hear or feel anyone who knocks on the walls asking if she could come out and play. Anyone who tries to trespass on the boundaries she established- no matter how unrealistic or crazy those boundaries seem- they’re taking their life into their own hands. Because once a Black woman sets up her place of refuge she will protect that place at all costs.

No, the Angry Black woman is not a myth. Black women do be mad as hell. Yes she can run you away with a host of  “F— you! Go to hell! Kiss my ass!” rants.  You might think there is no rationale behind our random blow ups. Our frustrations. Our pressures. Yes, Black men and Black women share the same type of struggles… but Black men have  one less strike against them. They are not women. They still are likely to get chosen for a job position before Black women, still likely to get promoted before she does and still likely to get paid more than her.

Black men have to live with the struggles of being Black. Black women have to live with the struggle of being Black and being a woman. The adrenaline is double for her. She  has to fight harder for respect. Work harder to break near even in the earnings. Be the mama and daddy to the children the man she loved left behind. Ride through the terrors and the storms alone. She can’t say we’re going out to buy some milk and never come back. Lives are depending on her whether there’s a man in the picture or not. She can not run and hide or take a walk. She has to stand in the thick of it and lead her household. Whether the government gives her a hand out or a middle finger, she has no choice but to deal with the hand she’s dealt. Now is not the time for her to cry. She can do that once she get her children to bed. She can’t cry on the job. She has to turn those papers and clear them phone lines or flip them burgers to keep the boss off her back.

According to the book, “Shifting: The Double Lives Of Black Women In America” (I strongly recommend this book to learn more on the socioeconomic issues binding Black women in America), the psychological behavior of Black women are broken down into the four categories:

The Inferiority Complex

The Emasculating Complex

The Criminal Complex

The Promiscuity Complex

Because this blog would be super long if I broke it all down in this one entry, I am going to divide it into a series. I will be discussing each complex separately in the upcoming blogs so that it will be more reader friendly.

Stay tuned for Part 2: The Inferiority Complex

Article written by: Arose N Daghetto (a.k.a A Beautiful Black Woman)

In our lives, we all have a story to tell. Some stories are well received. Other stories are well despised. No matter what your story is, you must never be afraid to tell it. Whether you are telling it to the millions, or standing on a lonely rock telling it to the sea.

Never apologize for giving voice to what’s in your heart.


Always with love,

A Beautiful Black Woman



Pandora’s Box:

n. box opened by the first mortal woman which released all human ills into the world (Greek Mythology); any situation that creates more problems than existed beforehand.  (From Webster Dictionary)

There were times when I questioned God.  I asked Him, “Why am I here?  Why have you created me to suffer more than the Black man or any other non Black person?  Why have you created Black women to be deemed as evil and unlovable?  Why do I feel like I have to spend my life trying to prove to people I am a woman.  I am beautiful.  I am capable of being gentle, nonviolent, and harmless?  Why have I been created to live my life being apologetic for my skin color, my hair type, my nature, my native tongue, my upbringing?”

Yeah, I asked God these questions at one point of my life.  But I’m not the only one.  Plenty of  Black women asked the same questions.

For Black women life is a journey of never being good enough.  The quest for being accepted by some one seems unattainable.  The longing to be treated like she belongs in the human race who ostracize her through hidden or unhidden actions.  The wish to be embraced by the same race of people who shuts her down and shuts her out before she could even to state her case.   The push for equality burns through every muscle in her body as she presses against the massive brick wall segregating her from a fruitful life.  Her spirit is strong, but her body reeks in to forbidden weakness.

When she completes her day of hardships, her body aches with the pains of the world.  Her tears are invisible. Her heart ripped out of her body and put on auction for scientific research.  Studying her emotions and physical attributes are a spectating sport to those fortunate enough to not bear the physical and emotional poverty she lives in.  Many books were written about it and many universities include her plight in many cultural and women’s studies.

Centuries later, the curiosity still lingers on what makes a Black woman love and what makes her hurt.  What turns her on and what turns her off.  Her emotions have been treated as an experiment and not an experience.  Although she is not being a part of some exhibition on a public platform like Venus Hottentot and scores of female slaves, the Black woman’s personal struggles and physical characteristics continues to be a hot topic in many public forums of discussion.

Black women aren’t suppose to show any signs of weakness. We don’t shed tears. We don’t have emotional breakdowns. We were born to be warriors. At least that’s the myth shoved down our throats by society.

How dare a Black woman get weak?  How dare she be equated to the love she’s only saw in the lives of others and never her own?  How dare she be found deserving of respect?  Damn anyone who finds her acceptable!  God help the soul who appreciates any Black woman as being a strong woman with a presence that’s made to be loved!

Long before Willie Lynch and long after slave masters dehumanized and demoralized the Black woman.  This didn’t start when she arrived in America. It started while she was still in Africa.  It started with the men she stood by and loved.  She was a second class citizen, a beating post, a child bearer, a sex slave.  She grew up in a culture where girl babies brought days of sadness where boy babies brought days of celebration and hope.  She was born rejected, cursed the day she was born to be nothing more than a man’s property (or livestock if you consider those who had a harem), a cook, a maid who spent most of her young life on her back or in labor.  Her unfortunate calling in life forbade her to be sick and when she got sick, she often received negligent care.  She wasn’t the only one, many of her sisters experienced the same woes.  Sometimes her sisters survived the negligent medical care, other times they did not.

To the world, Black women do not get weak.  To the Black man, she is a lioness who can’t be tamed. To the white man, she is the most exotic species of civilization he’s ever feasted his lustful eyes on. To history, the Black woman is iconoized as the rejects of humanity who’s strong enough to be a man, “not attractive enough to be a woman.  Her dynamic features draws men in physically instead of emotionally.  Because her overall unique beauty stirs lustful appetites in these men, they label her as  over sexed lushes, out to plague society.  The evil woman whom all should fear and stay away from.

When has the act of human nature become the perversion of human nature?  Why in American history (the one you don’t hear about in schools) was it an acceptable act of become human nature try to tie handkerchiefs on her head as a maid and nanny rather than a CEO of some reputable company?  Why was the perverse self gratification  and outright laziness of human nature acceptable enough to snatch a woman from the bosom of her family to brand her, strip her of her clothing, banished of her dignity and put on auction block as a breeder and not empowering her to remain in the bosom of her family, where she can stand side by side with her husband be called a lady?

When it comes to sensuality, the Black woman is the envy of millions.  Women of other races wanted her parts, but never wanted to be her whole.  Other women would try to convince her that no real man would want to love her.  Men would see her as a rare commodity, indulging in various sexual escapades with her but prefer someone less “intimidating” or more “Eurocentric” looking to commit to.  

Her brother, the beloved Black man has adopted this new universal way of treating the woman he once reverenced as his African Queen.  The highly sought after Black man whom she stood on many frontlines with during Civil Right Marches and Black Power Movements have come to hate her.  She is no longer the choice woman he clings to and finds refuge in.  Instead he runs from her instead of to her.

So I guess it was the voices of Black women before me that makes me ask these questions to God.  The tears they cried which were recycled to fall from my eyes.  It is the hard, slow, thrumming beats my heart gives as I am reminded of the pain they went through in their homelands as well as this land. The welts and blood of their bodies send tingling sensations in my skin.  I get defensive and offensive because I am only speaking the things these Black women wish she could do so long ago but would be maimed or killed if she did.  So I sit at her feet, mourn by her grave, open Pandora’s box and pray a prayer that all Black women are redeemed…  living or dead.


Written By:  Arose N Daghetto (a.k.a A Beautiful Black Woman)


Image by: Mslovely101 (


People say sexy is a big butt and a smile
I say sexy is a sharp thinking mind
With legs that go the extra mile
People say sexy is a tight waist with ample hips
I say sexy is a smooth butter tongue with poetic lips
Who speaks with knowledge and begets the gift
People say sexy is the art of getting laid
I say sexy is an innovator that can make lemons out of lemonade
‘Cause she focuses more on getting paid than getting laid
People say sexy is a woman who can’t get enough sex
I say sexy is a woman who can make her money stretch
A woman who can churn leaders out of a community of rejects

Sexy is a pair of silky brown shoulders
That makes her rivals say, “God Bless Her”
Sexy is a long curvy back
That houses a cast iron backbone that’s never slack
Sexy is the housemaid who becomes the 9 to 5 boss
Slinging grits and pushing paper all while carrying the cross
With her babies little and grown
She epitomizes what it means to have a durable backside

Sexy is the long arms that can hug life into the lifeless
Gather collard greens will swatting the young and the restless
Sexy is a pair of healing hands with a strong grip
That can whip a bowl of candied yams or massage a man’s injured hip
Society’s standards of sexy didn’t come into play when God made Eve
A woman pulled from Adam’s rib yet he still revered her as a queen
When Adam and Eve’s daughters stepped to the scene
It was obvious that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree
They mirrored her beauty which came oh so naturally
I thank God for being the Author and Giver of the term “Sexy”.

-Written By Arose N Daghetto (Poet, Author)


 Beauty is worse than wine, it intoxicates both the holder and beholder.
Karl Leberecht Immermann (German dramatist, 1790- 1840)


There is something about the way she was made. The silky shade of paint that makes her distinctive complexion. The way the Artist got carried away when creating his favorite parts of her. Her lips, her nose, her eyes, her hips, and lord that most talked about part of  the them all, her big ol’ ass. As much as this particular quality sends heads wheeling and blood rushing among her male counterparts, she still carries a quality that outshines all those other diamonds that makes her such a rare jewel:

Her strength. 

She inherited it honestly. From a long line of proud African American women. Young villagers who made Africa as golden as the sands (for she came from the earth). War torn survivors who fled from danger with their infants on their backs and their children in tow. Disaster relief specialists whose years of poverty reared them as elders of the community and the crazy glue that kept divided villages together. She is among the mourners who grieved, danced with the widows, prayed with the orphans, while comforting the friends and family left behind.  

She came from a line of proud African American women who sailed the crowded ship containing people she helped in the village. People she mourned with, prayed with, some she didn’t know but felt a kindred spirit with them nevertheless.

While people died all around her from illnesses, malnutrition and suicide, she stayed alive. Even through the smell of death, the sight of dying children, and traumatic sounds of  wailing families, she clung to the smallest morsel of quiet faith she could find in the deepest darkest parts of her.She came from a long line of whipped mothers, lynched fathers, violated children who dedicated their lives trying to crawl out the belly of hell. While her foremothers brought forth children for their masters she learned about the value of forgiveness through the trait she inherited from them.

She never dined with the line of women who brewed in a pot of revolution, simmering in civil rights, and risking their lives for desegregation by staring in the barrel of a gun (some even using a gun) she still shared a their passion as though she was right there on the frontlines with them. While history was being made, her pressence stirred in the sands. As she blew invisibly through the sandstorms and clung to the bottoms of sandy feet, she was being cultivated through their experiences. 

She was made to be taken seriously yet she allowed her past to make her into a joke. She was made to live in royalty yet Corporate America subjected her to poverty.  She was made to be of power only to be stripped bare of those rights by the powers that be. The heiress of Golden Streets the ghost of Willie Lynch paid her a visit, tossing her on Skid Row.  She rarely asked God why. Instead she continued to thrive.

She intimidates. Interrogates. Annihilates. and propagates. If you get on her right side she’ll build you up. Get on her left side and she’ll tear you down. If you unarm yourself around her she’ll open up to you, giving you the very best- and the most vulnerable- parts of herself. Show her one sign of betrayal and she will shut you down in the blink of an eye.She makes good with the little she has. She elevates the lowest conditions of human nature. She makes the undesirable desirable. Everything you hate about her she can make you love. The darker she is the sweeter she is. The lighter she is the deeper she is. Give her five minutes and she’ll change your life.


Who is she? She is the Black Woman. Reared as public enemy number one, going down in history as a shameful beauty.

Her beauty comes in all shades, shapes and sizes. Her physique alone holds the definition of bold and bad. She is the woman who naturally possesses the physical attributes so many people pay plastic surgeons to create and exaggerate on their own bodies. She is the reason why so many of her non Black peers deem her as exotic. Her skills in the bedroom doesn’t even scratch the surface of other extraordinary things she can do. For example, she can carry a whole family on her back with no male patriarch or no government handouts (because not all Black rely on the government and good credit to survive).   

She can have the most important people in her life taken away from her without warning, her comfort zone ban her at the gates, her petty luxuries snatched out of her hands and her health violate her in ways she never imagine. However,instead of laying down to die she resurrects, reinvents, and redefines herself so that the voids in her life are benign.

Call her what you will:  Lioness, exotic, warrior princess, Nubian goddess, Queen of the ghetto if you love her. Psychopath, man basher, hater, drama queen, gold digger,  ho, or even worse, n—– if you hate her.

Black women bared many titles over the years. Some of these titles beautified her while others repulsified her. For a lifetime, African American women have become so shamefully conscious of their identities as well as their attributes. But after reading reading all these things that make her who she is, wouldn’t that make her a shameless beauty?


Written with love and adoration,

Arose N Daghetto (a.k.a A Beautiful Black Woman)