Whole.

What does it mean to love a Black Man
who wears the wounds of history like armor?

I see you, Black Man.
And I am proud and scared of you.
At the same time.

Not the fear that White supremacy circulates.
Like recycled garbage.

I am proud of you because of your wherewithal.
I am afraid of you for taking your hurt out on me.
In various ways. At various points. In history.

Leaving me.
Blaming me.
Brutalizing me.
Villainizing me.
Betraying me.
Sabotaging me.

Sacrificing my heart for your pride.

I have loved you all my life.
And each time I reached out my hand to save you, you gnawed it off because of some slight offense, that I could never have known.

How can I love and protect you, when you lash out at me for what they did/do to you?

I am not a White woman.
I don’t have long blonde hair.
Big breasts and a carefree throw away laugh.

I am not stature.
I am true.
To you.
In ways rooted in blood.

I love as hard as you.

I know slavery murdered your masculinity. It became easier to leave or shut down instead of feeling the depths of your disappointment with yourself.

I know the violence acted out on you, became the twisted reenactment of power you acted out on me.

I know. I know. I know.

I see you. I see your pain.
And it gives me patience with your pettiness.

I feel you. I feel your shame.
For not being able to provide for me as you see
White men do for theirs.

Provision and protection = manhood to you in so many ways.

I understand the handicap.
And I don’t penalize you for it.

But you hurt me when you are hurt.

Your absence haunts me.
Every day I pray for you.
Every night I hold you close in my dreams.

White supremacy is gunning for you.
And if I could, I would put my body
in between you and their bullets.

Like Jesus on the cross. I would give my life for you.
I already have.
But you don’t see that.

You don’t see it. My heart, beats. ONLY. For. You.
It always has.
It always will.

But I can’t save you.

Baby love. Angel.
Love of my life.
You have to heal.

You have to love you more than you love your pride.
You have to value you more than you value respect.
You have to access the God that is you and set him free.

And when you do, my Beloved, brilliant, beautiful Black Man…
I will be here.
Waiting for you.

I want you more than I want this life.

But I need you whole.