King,

I love you. I love you. I love you. You’re a special kind. Warm, but complicated.

I’ve been waiting my entire life for you to trust me enough to let me in. I know that you love me, but I see your fear. For you to think that I’d ever hold that precious heart of yours in my hands and bring it harm disturbs me. Ain’t enough shit sitting out here on the wack ass tongue of society to ever make me do no shit like that. Not to you.

I adore you. I adore watching you get lost in your thoughts when you think no one’s watching. I adore your smile. I adore your cool. Blackman, ain’t nobody cooler than you. You’re smooth, goootdaaaaamn who’s smoother than you? Chocolate is dark brown for a reason, not coincidence. Ain’t nobody sweeter than you. I adore your strength. You lift us so high. You keep is lifted. You are regal. Mysterious. Intoxicating. Euphoric. Deep. Penetrating. Bittersweet. Sad.

I wish that I could wipe away everything that makes your brow wrinkle in that way that it does. If not your peace, who am I to be?

What I can’t understand though is why reciprocation is so rare with you? One woman breaks your heart and the rest of us get all your broken pieces to tend to. You can be cold sometimes and it hurts us.

Can I be the apple of your eye for longer than six months before I start to feel like the thorn in your side? I’m no fool. I know that one of your most insatiable desires is me, the black woman. We have soul ties that beat in rhythm in heaven before this earth, it’s what gives us that flavor, it’s a whole vibe. You will look past me sometimes and notice the next intoxicating queen. As you should. But don’t damage me. I can acknowledge kings without bowing before their courts. As you should, too.

I feel the weight that this world puts on you. In no way do I want to see you emasculated and broken because of the tattooed target on your back. But when it gets too heavy for you, it falls on me. Things that I’m not equipped to carry; our sons, protecting communities and homes. I only want to stand beside you in that, not in front. I don’t want to be the loud, I wish-you-would, angry and ready for war black woman. For once, I’d like to watch from the protected sideline.

Raising black children in this cold, cruel, twisted world is a challenge all in itself. Women raising black men though, how many of you read that line, took a deep breath afterwards?

I raised a daddy’s girl who didn’t get the chance to know hers until she was seven years old. My sons have all faced individual challenges. I don’t have many regrets, just wished that I understood a few things a little sooner. If I didn’t teach or give them anything else, I needed them to know love. How to give it and how to receive it. To me, it was the most important lesson for me. I wasn’t green about the ways of the world; I knew the harshness of it and its dismissiveness toward you, our men. There was nothing that I could do to prevent my now adult sons from feeling it. The greater lesson was making sure they didn’t sponge that shit in and making sure that stay whole enough to not put that shit on the women in their lives.

We need you. To heal whatever that hurt is behind your eyes. We’re carrying these babies on our backs and your rebuttal when we question your absence is, “You get that check this month?” Man, fuck that check. We need you.

I need you to penetrate my life with the same earth-shattering tenacity that you use to penetrate my pussy. The same concern and sincerity that you display when you ask, “..did you cum?” Keep that same energy when asking, “How can I make it better?” The synergy of our spirits is bigger than the bedroom.

None of us is perfect. I can’t undo the hurt of the world or the women before me. Especially if it came from your mom. I can’t fix that hurt. But let’s heal it. I can show you how good love feels if you’re willing to take the gloves off. Don’t punish me for loving you so deeply. There are some fucked up people in this world and unfortunately, we unknowingly let them into our lives where they reek havoc and leave us a damaged mess. But we can’t stay that way. Rise up and be who you were called to be. Healthy. Whole. Wise. Open to love.

I love you all ways, always.

Your Queen,

*insert name here*

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s