My letter to Black Men…

Dear Black Men,

I apologize, for I was not taught how to love you. They say men and women speak different languages causing misunderstanding and conflict. The black men I knew and thought I loved, barely had a voice. My personal wrath and anger towards the other black men before you, I carried into the relationship with you. To be honest,  the anger and hurt ran through my blood, because of the pain my father caused. I seen the anguish and lack of faith my mother had in you. The “Good Black men” were the ones that were exclusive to white women. Don’t even bother because a dark skinned girl like me would never stand a chance, at least that is what I was told. I expected you to love me, when the world around us teaches you not to love yourself. Everyday for you is a fight to stay alive. We as black women don’t have it easy either, but for you, there is no support. I can’t I expect you to be the man for me, when your own father neglected this very responsibility. Your mother could only do so much between trying to provide, raise, love and support you. That job is meant for two. My love was broken, sometimes possessive, and jealous. The things the bible tells us love isn’t. Your behavior is only a reflection of how you view yourself. The immature thought of the more women you sleep with, is what the hood defines as a symbol of being a man. Little did you know that with that increasing body count, you shatter into smaller pieces. Your spreading of your broken love creates a domino effect of broken hearts. You were taught not to cry, that was the building blocks to your emotional unavailability. You never learned how to handle your emotions. You create children with women whom you don’t see any future, hoping to be more than your father. Only to turn around and repeat because to break the cycle requires another level of strength that you believe you don’t have. I had faith in you, the black man. More faith in you than you had for yourself. So much faith that it clouded my faith for myself. I don’t know how many times you have heard “He ain’t shit”. The confirmation of what you are starting to believe yourself. You pull away not to neglect the ones you love, but to find a way to fix things. It is in your blood to provide but your past hinders you from doing so. You drown your sorrows away with Hennessey and smoke until your troubles disappear. The black woman you chose, the one that was once your peace, has become the voice from the outside. She is not content with your trying, nor can she see beyond her frustration. We are both fighting for the same thing. We are looking to each other to fill a hole that our parents should have filled. Me searching for the unconditional love of my father, and you the guidance and love of your father. Love is something we are born with, but how we show it through actions is a taught behavior. My only idea of a healthy relationship was what I saw on TV. Its not like that here in the real world. Black love doesn’t have to be about struggle but generationally our bonds and foundation have been broken.  Change is required when we feel like we are falling in the same space as the ones before us. As a black woman, I vow to heal my wounds and prepare for a better me. Hopefully I can aspire you to do the same. Deep down we both know we deserve and want something different . Dear Black man help me break this generational curse. #Learningtoloveablackman


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