I love seeing:
Black men who undeniably love black women
not just for our curves, color combinations, thickness, lips and breasts
of our honey, our flavor, our sweetness, our poise and the loudness of our souls.
They see us as Queens, they crown us as such and humbly understand that we can be modestly grandiose; even though some may claim our blackness leaves us ashamed and scared to show our God given glow.
I melt seeing:
Black men who undeniably love black women for birthing their daughters and raising their sons
embrace that fact that we are not just a vessel or a beautiful bold statue to show of; we are where they come from, we are who they love.
No New Friends?
Sometimes I don’t think that people really understand me.
My need for quiet and space is often misconstrued as me being insensitive, unwelcoming or standoffish. Maybe it’s silly of me to wonder why others feel the need to judge my distance.
They are entitled to those feelings, right?
Some days I just don’t want to talk, other days I just need “me time” and I wish people really understood like they say they do. Instead, I am accused of being inconsistent, unavailable and hard to reach.
The ones closest to me understand that I may disappear for a few days but I always return. Maybe this is why I don’t invite newbies into my space, they don’t get it and are easily insulted.
I feel like I am all over the place sometimes and need to regroup without people, likes, retweets and reblogs.
In all honesty I am just being me and in reality being myself isn’t for the world to necessarily ”get.”
I like people.
I need people.
…but sometimes I don’t and that should be respected.