A Love Letter to Black Women

*** Disclaimer- This is NOT my writing***

Written by @charaiacallabrass: https://www.instagram.com/charaiacallabrass/

Sis,

You’re tired. I know. You have every right to place your voice in a glass bottle and send it of to sea- hoping it will wash onto the shore of someone who will listen. I know you’ve experienced a loneliness that feels both numbing and overwhelming and that you’ve mustered the strength to grip onto hope as you trudge through the valley of disappointment . I know of the trauma. The small moments. The violation of personal space when someone asks to touch your hair as they reach with a sense of permission you never gave . The thoughts that race through your mind when you’re followed through your favorite store. The debate that ensures within as you wonder if you’re just imagining things or if this world is still selling candy-coated nightmares labeled the American Dream.

I know you remember the moment you felt as though your blackness was wearing you. That your chocolate skin was an itchy sweater passed down to you by your grandmother. I know the way your world lit up when someone called you “beautiful”, only to implode when it followed by ” for a black girl”, I see the moments you cried in the bathroom at your job, feeling as though your career was centered around proving you’re capable. I know the burden you carried when you felt like the voice for all black people when the teacher brought up slavery.

And I know the anger. The anger. That burning sensation in your heart as you wonder when you can stop pleading to matter. I know the pain and the agony of waiting to matter enough to existence in peace and wondering when black men get to grow old.

Your blackness is not a curse and it’s not an accident. When God looked at creation and said it was very good, that included you. That included the babies you’re raising. Or the man you’re loving. Or the family legacy you are building.

You can protest with your presence. So show up. Nurture black joy. Build black wealth. Love the spirit of the black man back to life. Be tired, but don’t you dare stay tired. Don’t you dare let the manifestation of sin stop the manifestation of joy. and what a joy it is to be black sis. What a joy.

I Love you.

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