I hate my skin. It is so black.
I hate my hair. It is so thick and not "good hair."
I hate my body. It is so short and skinny, and of course, no boobs.
I hate my voice. It is too soft and weak.
I hate my smile. It is way too big.
So, I thought.
In silence, I wept bitterly because no one thought I was a precious pretty little girl (Again, so, I thought). My soul was slaughtered with self-hatred and persecutions of shame.
THEN IT HAPPENED.
I started to learn about myself. Then I started to like myself. Then I started to love myself and still, I am enriched in the epiphany of self-love.
I love my chocolate skin. It's rich, exotic, and too damn delicious to admire.
I love my hair. I had naturally long hair to short boy cut. Regardless on the style, interwoven with weave or not, my hair is flowing with health.
I love my body. It is petite and fun-sized. As for the boobs, one word. Push-up bra. God is a genius. hahaha.
I love my voice. It is soft, soothing, inviting and feminine.
As for my smile, it is still big and wide, but Bodacious!!
There are HUNDREDS crippled little girls who are defiled, hating themselves, thinking such foolish thoughts I once feast upon daily. I pray that one day, they look in the mirror and cherish their unfading God-given beauty...
...like I finally did.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
All men are dogs.
Well, at least the ones I've dated. Most of them.
Others were just mistakes.ugh.
But then I STOPPED serving KIBBLE AND BITS and starting cooking up Filet Mignon in red wine and balsamic vinegar.
....and Reginald D. Johnson, Sr. pulled up a seat.
I simply love my man. He is a warrior. Not because he is fighting a rare brain cancerous disease, but because he indulges in my tasty love everyday.
I am his Queen, with his pure love dripping all over every inch of my body. Who needs diamonds when you could have such a love so rich? So precious? So rare?
He fulfills me.
All through high school and college, I fell for the cuties who were delicious but were too tart to taste. To be real, they just treated me like shit.
But one night, an angel came down, wiped my tears and told me to STOP.
Like my girl Wilson says, every woman has a light bulb that will turn on when she is fed up. Until her light flashes on, she will continue to allow men... excuse me, dogs to treat her like a piece of savory bacon.
But I met him. Reggie. The man who truly covered my bruised heart with his blanket of solace. And healed it.
Countless nights of warm thoughts. Because the Prince of my dreams have arrived and stayed by my side, my everyday life is a fantasy. A real love story.
Finally, a man who is a man and who loves me. And not ashamed of being loved back by his beautiful Black Queen.