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Dear Black Girl, I know...
how intimately you’ve struggled to hold onto a sense of self that makes sense to you.
I know you’ve lost yourself a few times more than you’d like to admit out loud. But you’ve also recovered yourself just as many times...and thensome!
I know there is a pletora of pain and loss you’ve kept buried behind your trademark, koolaid smile.
That you’ve learned self-sabotage in self-martyring yourself over and over again, in order to save the rest of the world.
I know how lonely it feels to feel so misunderstood that even as you seek a community to belong to, you’d rather suffer in silence than risk the shame, rejection or betrayal that sits outside your solitude.
Because even when you’re lonely, you’d rather be alone.
…or so you tell yourself.
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I know you long for something greater but you’re not quite sure what that something is.
There’s just this greater calling inside of you --
sometimes leading to frustration because there’s so much (more) you long to do
but at times it all just feels....impossible.
I know there is a pragmatic rebel present inside of you.
You’re not satisfied by what appeases the masses.
You like to learn the rules of the game before you break
or discard them completely.
You take pride in doing your own thing.
So many intense, eccentric, versatile layers of intrigue and depth.
A rich, grand, big, bold, too muchness you yearn to share more of though are scared to.
I know that all parts of you are sacred, worthy and deserving of love.
You are love.
And loving and lovable.
I want you to know that your scars are just as beautiful as your smiles.
How do I know all of these things?