Dear God,
The world says that you made a mistake.
They say that I am not good enough.
Their reasons do not add up,
but I have heard it said enough times for the question marks to float around in my head.
Who do I believe?
The One that says I am beautifully and wonderfully made, or the one that says I am not worthy of the life you gave?
They make fun of my wide nose
They sexualize my curves
They say my hair is nappy
They equate my skin to dirt
But isn’t it from dirt you made us Lord?
Black, white and every color between?
Why am I such a provocation?
You say I am good,
But they call me a criminal.
Why have they weaponized my skin color?
Why do they make me wear my black like chains, when you made me draped in your royal image?
What is it about me that makes them so afraid?
Why do they relegate me to the back, and tell me that I cannot occupy space. Much less affluent spaces?
Why do they silence my voice, as if nothing I say matters?
Why do they nonchalantly snuff the life you gave?
There is a thin line between love and hate.
But you called me to love, so love I will.
Yet, I have to ask
Do you see the injustices Lord?
Do you hear the gut wrenching cries of the ones left behind?
Sons and daughters living in fear, born with rights they can’t exercise.
Apparently, living while black is a death sentence.
Can I just breathe?
“My beloved”, I hear you say.
Be still.
Catch your breath.
With all of hell coming against you,
hear the sound like a mighty rushing wind.
That’s my spirit.
My breath.
Breathe me in.
I am greater than the one in front of you.
Breathe.
I see every tear.
I hear every cry.
My face is turned toward the broken-hearted,
and my back against the ones that inflict pain.
You are fighting a battle,
but I have already won the war.
I am a God of justice
I am for you.
Breathe.
Breathe.
xoxo
Mel.
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