There’s a tremendous fear residing over the black body. 

The fear that if our parents allow us to go out into the world, we won’t be held and afforded the same love they’ve given us.

The fear that this cruel world,

“won’t see how you are beautifully made

and perfectly tailored by my hands.

They will never know of the gentleness in your innocent eyes or feel the pain of your loud cries when I had to leave your side.”

This fear,

This generational embedded fear,

is something your children can’t do anything productive with.

We cant package it and conceal it,

pulling it out during happy hour, sharing it with white counterparts,

offering them a sip.

This fear is our personal concoction and it is simply designed for our own destruction.

This fear that our parents refuse to admit is the best form of consumption,

being spewed out like word vomit.

This fear is ancestral regurgitation.

Now being spoon-fed to their own children.

But this isn’t our parents’ recipe, yet it’s treated like a well-preserved heirloom, innately inherited and somehow managed to be kept alive.

This fear, residing within the depths of  our parents, has found a comfortable sacred space to thrive

and eternally survive.

This fear, that our parents feel is not ours to hold;

This fear is having to come to terms with, as parents, there are simply things inevitably out of your control.