The Internet can be a cruel and unusual abyss of half-cocked opinions and bargain basement analysis, especially when it comes to Black wom...
To You If You Are Concerned
I can feel my position softening.
For some reason it's important that I tell you these things,
But I'm not sure why.
I don't know what my desired outcome is except not to carry this weight on my chest anymore.
My breathing is labored.
I'm melting under the ease of you.
Your every move is predictable. Almost.
It feels safe when I often feel that I'm not.
Me telling you.
You hearing it.
The knowing as a result.
What will it matter?
What is my desired outcome except to be able to breathe easier?
To tell or not to tell?
My truth that is.
Honestly not even sure you're a deserving audience.
You're just the only one this is meant for.
They're not the same things.
Truth and honesty are not synonymous.
Is it important for me to tell you the truth or for me to be honest with you?
When I know, I'll ask for your help in lifting this weight.
So I can breathe again.