Falling. A sensation we all experience at some point during this journey called life.
When I slip and fall, you lift me up.
Holding me close to your brown skin, I look into your brown eyes to see love and hope staring back.
Your bosom was the very first home I’d ever known since entering this realm.
Your warm brown skin the first thing mine ever touched.
Your words the first to ever enter my ears.
Whispering hopes and dreams straight from the heart.
Yet, time turns those words into wishes for safety and survival in a world growing colder.
You knew there would be times when I’d have to shake off the hate like dirt on my shoulder.
That the skin I wear so proud would be a target for those ignorant of its beauty.
All you ever wanted was for me to look in the mirror and love what stared back at me.
You taught me to respect my neighbor even when it wasn’t returned.
That respect should always be given but my love must be earned.
Even if that brown skin gifted to me would make it harder for some to see through me.
You emphasized that there was no limit to what I could grow up to be.
You taught me that I’m enough, I have value, I matter.
Because I was born of and raised by; a strong black woman.