An Open Letter to My Brothers

black women

Keisha, Alexandria and Natasha

Dear Black Men,

Donald Trump created an entire fake University just to rip people off and he’s one of two people in America that are vying to become our President. A white college male in California raped an unconscious woman behind a dumpster and is basically getting 3 months. As I’m tying this a black man is probably getting sentenced to years over weed when it’s legal in several states and most cities don’t even arrest you for small amounts anymore. These are all facts and these are all things that need to be addressed. I am not addressing them in this letter. In this letter I want to talk about the three woman that were murdered this week by men that look like you and I. Not because of gang violence, not because of police but because of domestic violence and this idea that, “If I can’t have you, no one can.”

Earlier this week I talked about how there has never been a race of women that existed that love black men more than black women. They will literally sacrifice their last for us, our mothers, our sisters, our aunts but more than anything; the women that love us in a romantic way. When a woman loves you, it’s with her entire being. She feels your pain and love in her soul and what’s hers is yours. The thing is though, if you don’t appreciate it, you’ll lose it and once you lose it, you have to her go.

Someone is going to read this and think that I’m saying all black men are woman beaters or all black men look the other way when it comes to domestic violence. Someone will read this and say, “What about white men?” “What about police?” Let me be clear. I speak to black men when it comes to protecting black women because no one else will. This week, three black women were shot and killed by men that should have been protecting them whether they were together or not. If a woman is the mother of your children, you should always want to make sure she’s good. We are spending too much time and energy fighting each other when we need to be looking out for each other.

If my friend or my brother or a co-worker tell me they are having problems at home or problems getting over a breakup. It’s my job as a man to talk to them, to see where their head is at. It’s my job and responsibility to let them know, “Bro, let shorty go, it’s going to be alright. You weren’t good to her when you had her and now that she’s finally happy you want to terrorize her even more?”

Black women used to give themselves to slave owners just so black men wouldn’t get beat or sold. When black men were getting lynched and locked up in the 50’s and 60’s, black women bailed us out and picked up the picket signs. When drugs hit the community and entire neighborhoods and cities lost black men to prison; our women held our sons and daughters together. Even now, with every other rap lyric and social media debate attacking black women, they’ve never let our side. So it’s up to us as men to stop looking the other way when we see domestic violence. When we see our brother, our friend, is about to lose it. We can’t laugh it off or belittle him. We have to make him understand, let her go.

I get sick to my stomach having to prove I’m not a criminal every time I get pulled over. Having to prove I’m qualified every time I work on a new project at work. Having to wait just a tad bit longer for my meal at a nice restaurant because, “He’s probably not going to tip well.” But what really kills me is watching little black boys and girls be raised without a mother. We have to fight the world everyday, we can’t fight each other.

I’m aware all three of these women weren’t murdered by ex’s in their lives. But they are still black women that were taken too soon. Domestic violence and domestic terrorism are the same to me. 

It’s All Love,

Demez

Healing Her Heart

Happy

Happy

No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t stop smiling. The thought of him showing up had her dancing in her tank top and panties while she prepared dinner and double checked to make sure her apartment was clean. It had been a long time since she invited a man to her home for dinner. It took therapy, prayer and a lot of time to heal but she felt like he was the one.

The only reminder left of that night was a small scar over her eyebrow barely visible unless the sun caught it the right way. She thought he was coming over to propose, she thought it was going to be the happiest night of her life and instead it was the worse. To this day she still doesn’t know why he attacked her, why he beat her and did what he did.

The look in his eyes wasn’t the look of the man she’d known for a year, the man she would have done anything for. It was the look of a man that hated her. Lying on the floor, feeling like she was seconds away from dying her heart stopped when he pulled out the gun. It wasn’t for her though, he used it on himself.

“I want you to live with what you made me do. Why did you make me fall in love with you?”

Those words and the sound of the gunshot caused her more nightmares then she could have ever imagined. Even with her eye shut and her ribs broken she cried over his body, shaking him to be okay. To wake up!

That night changed her life, blinking her eyes, sipping the wine, she came back to reality. He was gone, Adam was nothing like him. He was sweet and smart and patient. Their love wasn’t intense, it wasn’t scary. When she was younger she would have never given a man like Adam a chance. He was attractive and had great qualities but they weren’t qualities she could appreciate back then.

Outside of her therapist she’d never told anyone about what happened that night, not even her family. The day she told him at the park she felt like it wasn’t her she was talking about. She could feel the tears falling and she saw it all in her head but she needed him to know. Squeezing her hand, wiping her tears, he listened to every word. She left nothing out, every detail, no matter how graphic.

The hardest part, the part she feared most, was telling him she couldn’t have children. The attack did more than brake her spirit, it broke a part of what made her a woman. Meeting his eyes, telling him what the doctors told her, what the specialist told her. “It’s why I can’t accept your love Adam, I know how much a child means to you and you say you’re okay with it now but I know you’ll resent me.” Pulling her close, unable to fight back his own tears. “I just want you. I haven’t regretted one moment we’ve been together and I don’t care how long it takes for you to heal or get comfortable with being with a man again. I’m here, I’m here. You don’t have to ever worry about me not being the man I am today. If it’s only the two of us for the rest of my life then God has given me more than enough.”

That spring afternoon was the cleansing the needed. Today she was ready. She wouldn’t hide her body, slipping off her jeans, opening the door. He stood there smiling, a bottle of wine, flowers. Taking the things out of his hand she pulled him inside, kissing him for what felt like the first time.

Today was a new day, today she would let love and happiness call her home.