On Loving A Black Woman
On Loving a Black Woman
Loving a Black woman is like writing a love letter to myself. It is a necessary act of self love. As my fingertips trace your body, I am reminded that I cannot worship your body without loving my own first.
To love a Black woman is to be seen as human. It is a reminder that I am whole and there is no audience to perform for. Our laughter is louder than the grief of white heteropatriarchy.
Loving a Black woman feels like discovering home for the first time, like a sun that never stops shining and a fire than never stops burning.
The first time I loved a Black woman and she fed me madesu, it tasted like home. Like memories of the continent. It tasted like our love could never die.
Loving a Black woman feels like finally seeing the face of the Divine, and realising that perhaps heaven is a person.
Loving a Black woman is like staring into a mirror. In the reflection of your brown eyes, I see that every proclamation of your beauty and any renunciation of your insecurities leads to the obligation to love myself.
Loving a Black woman is a tribute to the ancestors before us. As a reminder that our freedom to love is a result of those who came before us.