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After 12 years, the old butterflies came back. Well, I guess at my age you call them moths.

Now when I was a teenager, I was angsty as any teenager was, but after 17 years of having a mother who was in and out of my life like a yo-yo and a father who was faceless, I was angry.

When I was younger, I was terrified to express anger because it would often kick-start a horrible reaction in the men in my life. So I bit my tongue. I was left to painstakingly deal with the aftermath of my avoidance later in life, in therapy or through the lyrics of my songs.

I wasn't a social butterfly at all.

I was angry and frustrated when I was younger and didn't know my place in the world.

I was once a fairly angry person.

I then realized that I could never be satisfied again with the mere natural charm of my voice, that I had to constantly paint when singing, melting all the colors, expressing reds and blacks that had to be less primary but bursting with subtly colored combinations.

I know I lost my temper, but I tried to be human along the way.

People only say I'm angry because I'm black and I'm a woman. But all sorts of people write with strong feeling, the way I do.

I have to say that anger is the blanket that comes around me, and that blunts and blurs my sense of proportion.