When We Meet Again

When We Meet Again

When I think about moving home. I am concerned about crossing paths with people I used to go to church with before I left for college. I recall more days in church where ministers and pastors filled their messages with warnings and persecution towards people who had chosen a queer lifestyle than those with messages of love and acceptance. They will be waiting to see what destruction lesbianism has done to me. How my lust filled mind has managed to navigate grocery stores and doctor offices. I don’t truly feel much different from the young woman they used to know. I still love Jesus. I still love my Mama. The only difference is now I know I love women. This doesn’t mean I’ve written off men. I love both women and men. And I’m sure many of my friends from church also love women and probably love men too and that’s fine. Actually, that’s beautiful! But will likely never admit that outside of their late night meetings or dates masked as a hanging out or a sleep over. 

I see my life as a series of moments where I’ve been or am waiting at the edge of a mountain for the next big wind to carry me over to the next precipice. But I imagine You see me at that same edge of the mountain and are waiting in anticipation for me to fall rather than soar. Some of You are hoping someone will push me and in my fall I will find salvation and be freed of this ugly sin I call love. I call freedom. That I found my truth in.

I want to break bread with you. I want to worship and pray with you. I want to talk about Kirk Franklin’s impressive  milly rock. I don’t want to be a stranger to you and I hope that you won’t stay a stranger to me. If our paths do collide I want to work with you to build a bridge to a place where we can both sit comfortably and speak easily about our fears and dreams.

Gayness. Quierdom. Christianity. Holiness. All feel like freedom. Feel like love. Maybe I’ll encounter you in California and you’ll know me as the church-going, quiet, unimposing young girl. I hope I can create space with you to share with one another how we have grown and expanded our understanding of God’s unconditional love, heartache, and community. I hope that I encounter you as my full self so you can see another example of how the goodness of Jesus has manifested in my life as a queer woman. I pray one day we can step into the light together, whole and in truth.

6 O’ Clock

6 O’ Clock

Daddy Ive been sitting in the kitchen at exactly 6:00 o clock every day for 24 years  waiting for your call. Waiting for you to come home. The only time I ever missed a call from you was around my 7th birthday. I waited by the mailbox all day for your gift to come. A family friend said he had picked it up for me and left it in his apartment. I went with him to get it. I received your present but lost my innocence.

All black men feel unsafe now. All black men feel unsafe now.
I needed you To show up ready to love me. Now I can’t show up. I can’t love you. I can’t love any of you. I can hardly love myself.
Why was I made from a love story that never truly began. We never had our chance to nurture a father daughter love. Once you moved back in. I quickly became your mother. Keeping track of your meds, hiding your condoms from Mama so I wouldn’t have to hear her cry. Why was it so hard for you to love us? Why is it still so hard for you to love yourself. Mama called and said its MS. I called back and said bullshit. You don’t get to die. You don’t get to suffer that way. No fucking way. I still need you to show up for me. I am still waiting in the kitchen and its almost 6 o clock.
Thank You.