Get Here: Stories for the (Urban) Soul
They do not know
that they are loved.
And not just loved but
deeply wanted,
immeasurably desired,
insanely sought after,
immensely valued.
Every single day.
They don’t know,
so they live their
lives out of pain.
Out of distraught.
Out of brokenness.
It is inevitable that
they would act out
of their not knowing.
As a man thinks in
his heart, and all of that…
It is inevitable that
they would run/flee
love and accept/embrace
abuse, because that
is what they were born into.
What we were born into.
What we are surrounded
with, well, that becomes
our familiar.
But we are not familiar
with love.
If they knew,
we knew,
we would be free.
Free to dance.
Free to love.
Free to not be
jealous or envious
of another with
slimmer thighs or
lighter skin or
longer hair or
a fatter ass.
We would be free
to be friends,
to be sisters,
to talk into the night
about our various
skin hues that are
heightened by the
moon’s glow and
kissed by the sun’s rays.
We would affirm and
compliment and advise
one another in the best
way and not be afraid
that she, or him, or her
would take our man.
We would know our worth.
We would know our beauty.
We would know that we
are unequivocally,
so essentially, utterly
incredulously, loved.
-Nicole D. Miller