To a Black Christian woman,

Your skin became an altar

With sacrifice upon sacrifice presented to God.

(like) A living slaughter

Made whole by the – not a – mortal cord

Made immortal in your heart by colours of you

When you tell your saviour, “you are all I want in you”

Dear Chocolate Chistian Woman,

Time doesn’t come late;

Only men do

And women too

But when Your Creator, you behold

It would be the sweetest taste to hold

Like chocolate

But with a better fate

photocredit: Black Christian Woman

Dear Dad #2

6:25 PM

Dear Dad,

I see running away from my problems as the first step to solving them. don’t judge me At least I’m aware there is a problem (I hope that counts for something). Some months back, I noticed an unlikely situation in my head. I ignored it, I knew it was odd but I paid no attention to it. Today, there is a war going on in my head (feel free to call it anarchy). okay running away isn’t always a good idea, how about I just tell everything to you?

I’m worried about my jeans, are they skinny enough? You never seem to care. I’m tired of black braids; I think I should add a pop of colour to them, like…say… blue or red, how about both? Sadly, it would never happen: mum believes I have to be decent. Apparently decency has been defined by black braids; weren’t all colours made to express beauty? I’m a little confused here and you have nothing to say about it – you’ve never said anything…

Last week, I tried out black nail-polish but my skin tone doesn’t bring it out at all. That’s technically your fault. Sometimes I get a little pissed that I’m not as fair as mum. I feel like night at day; I guess that makes two of us: It’s not that bad; I love putting on my brothers’ clothes, but whenever I’m hanging out with my girl friends I look like drag. So I stick with the guys – did I mention they find me comforting? I seem to be living the dream around deep voices and crooked moustaches. it doesn’t hurt to be different sometimes.

Daddy, I’m only bothered about all these things because I make myself think that is the problem. But the truth is my looks aren’t the problem…if only I knew the problem I would have said it already. Do you….know the problem?