Protect Black Love

The irony that I’m seeking protection when my skin keeps me strapped, confined, armored with pride.

What also resides in me is the mystified manifestation of my mother’s motivation and the fervent frustrations of my father fears. Because I’m black, mixed with black. And ain’t no ish can attack my essence without coming toe to toe with adoration of presence. 

I want to eradicate the dread associated with our love and exalt the true divinity of our unity. A union of love brought me here. Unions of love soiled my roots and sprouted  truths that keeps me here.

The photosynthesis of my family tree produces an image the absorbs so much light, there’s no surprise the carbon in me leaves such a radiance and breathes such an elegance this cycle can’t continue without these elements. 

So here I am searching for love in all the right places. One that dwells in duality, provides comfort to my intersectionality, acknowledges sensitivity and begets vulnerability.

No silencing of each other fright, no combativeness towards each other plights but when certain tweets take flight, when the programming leaves you remote in your insight. I can’t help but to shed light on the deliberate dissension dividing our divinity,

waging wars betweens kings and queens,

breaking our self-esteem.

And I'm watching Malcolm & Marie and can't help but wonder, what's in the middle? Self-hate. We keep fighting each other, mirroring one another. A sista and a brotha.

We both just want to be seen.

We want to be heard.

We want to be felt.

And if we had any sense we'd pick up the scent of dissent and discover this was always their intent.

Why should I hate you? Cause they hate you?

Why do I love you? Cause they forget to.

Can you love me? Cause they won't let me.

I should love me, then flip it. The profit is we.

This union.

A union of love.