I really enjoyed this essay. It was heart breaking to think of all the women who were unable to express themselves. It is a part of slavery that I had never thought of before, a part that, in this essay, almost seems the hardest part to bear.
As I read the essay I started to think of my own personal "slave masters" that kept me from pouring out the thoughts and feelings in my mind. I started to think about what kept me from spilling my creative juices all over the page and making a master peace. I think that for me what puts a halt to my writing in the person critique in my head. It is always telling me that it isn't right. That it is stupid and no one cares. It makes me second guess myself at every turn, stopping me from writing what I feel. To me this essay made me think of my own demons stopping me from writing and expressing myself.
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