As seen in the ‘Aint I A Woman Collective’ February 2016 ‘Love’ edition http://www.aintiawomancollective.com/1-samuel-167/
1 Samuel 16:7
But Yah said to Samuel, “Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have refused him; for not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but Yah looks at the heart”
Do not look at her appearance.
Her lips are swollen, unattractively pouty.
Her smile is bitchy.
Her frown is woven into her skin
It’s the inheritance of her melanin.
Her faults and her sins
Are not written in ink
They are graven in;
A memorial for society to look to
And point to
And redefine any glimpse of momentary confidence.
Her intelligence is boastful.
Her education is wasteful.
Not western enough to be tasteful.
She is implacable.
In these Eurocentric standards of beauty
Her imperfections are unavoidable.
For the first and the last time
She will insist that she can straighten and detangle but
Her hair is unprofessional.
Her voice, undetectable.
She is physical, she is muscular so
Her anxiety is mutable.
Clear tears should not accumulate in brown eyes,
Her emotions are dramatized.
She is not accustomed to love, she is accustomed to lies.
She is, whatever they whisper and assert that she is.
But she is, the figure that her heart creates;
She is not finite, she is not misunderstood.
They understand who she is, they have heard of her Queenhood.
Look at her heart. She is love.
She is the type of love which is deserving of our love.
Whilst simultaneously being told that she must earn the world’s love.
Then learning that there is pleasure in seeing her yearn for this love
Till the day she rests above,
The cycle is corrupt.
Give her love.
Do not look at his appearance.
He is too dark to enjoy looking at.
He is not dark and captivating,
He is fearful.
His orbs are all absorbing.
His stare is exhaustive.
He is incapable
Of making us love him.
His lip hangs low, his compassion is
An apparent no-show
He is violent
He is aggressive
He is a threat.
I’m sure I’ve seen him cry in prayer
But they insist that he and his kind
Are spiritually dead.
He is an anonymous lover.
He will not be named. He refuses to.
He is unforgiving.
He willingly chooses to serve time in jail for 70 x 7 years
He will not forgive his brother.
He is alone.
He is no longer the child of his mother.
His ego is all that he shows.
He is ashamed of what might be uncovered.
He is deteriorated.
He is the greatest shame to the slave and his roots
And the pain in the history left undiscovered.
He is, whatever they write-down and announce that he is.
But what if we made a conscious decision to tell him?
What if we were internally aware that we are used to seeing him bleed?
Almost unnervingly he is used to internalising his screams.
We see that without love
He is a statistic, he is a quota
He is a hashtag, he is a martyr.
He and his kind will never comfortably pronounce that they love each other.
But if we dare look into his heart
We’d feel ashamed of the stereotypes we let foster.
Give him love.