I've ran the entire gamut of emotions today. And the best I have to offer in terms of commentary is "all the women in me - ancestral, present, and future - are tired." Today has been exhausting. To have my truth taken from me and minstrelized is just....Jesus Devonte Christ.

I even questioned if my writing was not up to part like I thought: could the narrative be that mangled and wrecked that dude found room to so callously interpret my words. My truth. My power. I questioned every damn thing. My voice, my word choice, my accent.

I think about the countless other moments past and present where silence is the preferred and forced language for Black women. From Phillis Wheatley and Sojourner Truth to Fannie Lou Hamer, my great grandmother, Mary Jones Barkley, Mary Turner and Meg thee Stallion. I'm seething

I saw the apology. I don't care. I am angry. Seething from centuries of silenced Black women angry. The voice I speak with and write with is not my own. To have that taken away is unacceptable. Unforgivable. And to ask me to consider it is equally trifling and unforgivable.