Love is a no size fits all sweater.
Worn like the armor in a harsh winter storm, 
We bundle up in it and absorb all the warmth. 


Love is a song with no lyrics to confuse a multilingual world of its simplistic message. 
It’s Instrumental joy that carries no restrictions. 


Love is a bird without a cage. 
Flying where ever it most feels safe to be itself, it is abundantly free without confinement. 


Love is a painting in complete abstraction from any one defined meaning. 
Mounted on the walls of our hearts, it is God’s finest work. 

It lives rent free in the twinkle of my students’ bright, wide eyes and calls their young impressionable minds “home” as it redecorates their thinking and gives away all things undeserving of taking up space to bad will. ​

​Yesterday, on May 8th, I went on my usual morning jog/walk… but it wasn’t just my average morning jog/walk because I set a goal to make sure I completed 2.23 miles before I even thought about heading back home. See, on May 8th, 1994, Ahmaud Arbery entered this world with the potential and ability to share his greatness and to run as far as he could ever dream but on February 23rd of this year, was stripped of that very potential and ability by men who felt intimidated by the color of the skin he had no choice of being born into. Yesterday, Ahmaud would have been 26 years old, 2 years older than I had just turned 2 days before. Normality must be overrated because I just KNOW that it isn’t normal to go on a morning jog and have to fear for your life. I just know that all of those prior thoughts I had, before I was even aware of the incident, about whether it was possible for someone to shoot me down on the street as I jogged or whether someone would purposely run a stop sign and keep driving just because they viewed the color of my skin as a threat was even probable... I used to ask myself “why do you think like this?” I used to think “wow, I’m so overdramatic.” “Overthinking is all it is”... and then Ahmaud Arbery, a black man dressed in a white t-shirt, was murdered because he looked “suspicious” going on a jog in broad daylight… Sometimes, I wish I was wrong. I wish I was being “overdramatic”. I wish I was “overthinking”. To know that someone can be threatened by me going on a jog, sitting in my own living room, minding my own business, etc. I was born black and that I am proud of for many reasons and wouldn’t change it even if I could. We’re a group of beautiful and phenomenal people who know perseverance beyond belief. In fact, resilience is our very nature... but sometimes, even the things that come natural to us start to get tiring... like sometimes, “bouncing back” becomes too repetitive. We want to move forward without bumping into the same challenges we’ve been facing for centuries. We want to grow without fear of being cut down twice as much as the plants around us. We want to run towards something without feeling like we’re running away from something else... without having to feel like we’re running for our lives. We’re meant to do more than just survive but every single time we try to do just that, there’s someone there to remind us that being unchained doesn’t make you free. 

​Branded by the skin I was born in, there is no need for a heated metal plate to burn me. When they see me, they will place me on a stake and set fire to every part of my body without a second thought to my innocence. The blacker the berry, the more poisonous it must look for me to be condemned to a life of rejection and labeled as a threat for my only crime of being born my mother’s and father’s child.

I changed my hair again.
My curls have been weaved into braids.
I resemble an Egyptian queen.
My reflection is strength, beauty, and unapologetically unafraid.
 
The transition continues.
This time I have to let it breathe,
I pray someone mistakes me for Angela Davis.
You couldn’t bound me even through captivity.
 
My tracks have been set in place.
I paid for inches that could touch the floor.
Just like my twin, Beyoncée, I will uplift women.
My locs will be your ladder to reach a higher place to soar.
 
I find myself back at God’s first choice.
My hair is fertilized, growing, and blossoming in kinks.
This particular look has my reflection clapping back.
Some would call me black girl magic which is just another term for masterpiece.​

I definitely believe in a “to each their own” mentality but I also feel like some people have the idea of monogamy twisted. Men specifically have told me that if it’s possible to have multiple soul mates, then why would I not explore them all? I agree. What I, personally, can’t do is explore them all at the same time. One of my friends even called me closed minded because of this idea I have that every romantic relationship in your life deserves its own place in time separate from the rest. Some people have even reached far enough to explain to me that monogamy is a limitation on love. I disagree.
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​​My faith is usually my strongest suit but as of recently, I found myself asking “WHY?”... Not the notorious “why me?”, but more of that unpopular meaningful “WHY?” It’s the “why?” that’s a necessity to ask because without having one, life goes on without purpose. When you’re baptized as a baby and attend church religiously growing up, the idea of “Christianity” seems just as simple as waking up and brushing your teeth every morning. Church, praying, and repeating certain bible verses becomes just as vital to your routine as showering. As you get older though, you realize that brushing your teeth and showering are more than just routine, but a mandatory means to cleanliness. So, when does our “faith” become more than just a habit for us?

​Today, I found myself wearing an over-sized beach shirt accompanied by linen pants and open toed sandals. Most of the compliments that came my way ended with a comment about how I reminded them of summer vacation. I would laugh and share my theory that if I dressed like I was on a beach, summer would arrive sooner.