Good Girl Chronicles: #FineFellasFriday: A Love Letter to My #BlackBrothas, Lolo Hears You

This entry is dedicated to a man who knows my pain like it's his own: Apollo

Apollo and on a Good Girl Chronicles photo shoot

#FineFellasFriday: An Love Letter to My Strong, Fine,
Black Brothas

I want you to know, I hear you

Dear #blackbrotha,

I hear you boo. You feel you have to be so tough in this world. You see men just like you shot in the street sometimes at the hands of brothas like you, sometimes at the hands of people wearing a badge. You are shouting, you are pleading, “Don’t shoot.” But, you feel no one is listening. You turn on the television and see another black man down. Boo, I am sorry. I don’t know how to comfort you.

If I could shoulder your pain, absorb it, and endure it so you didn’t have to I would. That’s what a good girl does. We comfort, we love, we sharpen like Proverbs, and prepare you to head out to a hard, cold world. I want to be your Ruth.

Stereotypes say you are aggressive, resisting arrest, you are a danger to those in the line of duty. They say this even when your hands are up, even when they don’t find a weapon, even when you die for no cause. My heart aches for you boo. I want to hold you, press your head against my heart, and tell you love you back through the heartache of injustice like Brandi did for Tre in ‘Boyz in the Hood’. I want to be the Janet in your Poetic Justice, the calm in your storm.

I am perplexed at the current state of things. We are Americans. Our ancestors were Queens and Kings. Our royal lines were torn apart on the Transatlantic Slave Trade. Yet our people endured, rebelled like Nat Turner, survived the ugliness of slavery, escaped like Sojourner Truth, and fought back like Malcom X. Our bloodline is full of warriors, conquerors, Martin Luther Kings, Rosa Parks, and Barack Obamas. They fought, they marched, and they told our story. It’s not an easy one to tell, but it the story of us. We are conquerors, we are survivors, we are Davids admist Goliaths. In 2016 we are seeing too many of our black men dying, on the way home from the corner store, selling cigarettes or being mistaken for a suspect. All too often the deaths are at the hands of an officer. I know you are angry. I am too. I’m a strong, educated, black woman and I can’t wrap my arms around this. But,

I want to wrap them around you.

I hear you black brotha I do. You are crying out for someone to hear you, see you, let you live under the American flag that says we’re all created equal. The red, white, and blue is for you too honey. It contains the freedoms our ancestors fought for: the right to vote, protest, a right to have a say in this melting pot we call America. I can’t love away the pain, the hurt, disappointment, or anger.

I can only say this, “I hear you. Keep crying out black brotha. Keep marching. Keep protesting until they hear you too. Stand tall, be brave until they open their eyes and see you bleed red just like them too. You are a father, a brother, a businessman, an uncle, a brother with a dream, you are human. Your voice, your march, your resistance to the status quo has power. I hear you black brotha. I do! You don’t need to lift your hands to fight. Fight with your words. You don’t need to bear arms to avenge. The mightiest warriors slay when they shine a light on injustice without inflicting more pain. Let’s make the world see the brokenness you are feeling. I believe in telling your story, we all can be set free from these tragedies of police shootings, black deaths, and human loss. This isn’t just civil rights, it’s human rights.

Know this black brotha we sistas are dying too. Sandra Bland taught us that. We are mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, jilted lovers in formation; we are broken, and hurt just like you. We have pain too. I hear you black brotha. I can’t make the hurt disappear, but I hope in this letter you see…. I hear you…. I feel you… I understand you. I love you.

Remember this black brothas, God gave Moses a voice when he stuttered. He helped David slay a giant with a slingshot. He brought back everything the enemy took from Job, and God sent His only begotten son to a broken woman at well in the book of John, and showed her grace. That woman is me. I love you, but God loves you more. Keep using your voice. Ask God to guide and lead you in these difficult times. Hold your head up high in these difficult times, and remember even when the world doesn’t see you…. God does. I do. You are more than a conqueror. By faith you are mighty. You are an overcomer.

John 15:18 says, “If the world hates you, remember they first hated me.” Even our Savior was tested, betrayed, hurt, lied about, and hated. Let that bring you the strength to exhale, let go of the anger, and keep using your voice to effect real change. I hear you. I see you, and YOUR LIFE MATTERS.