Black love matters, well at least it does to me.
Not because it is the niche that has swept black media into a whirlwind of endless romantic memes since the unveiling of Love and Hip Hop.
But because in a world that is hell-bent on killing us, I have to convince myself that love still exists.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my life, and what I want to accomplish.
Regardless of how uninspired I am to produce content, I am sure of one thing
Black love matters…
I’m not just talking about the love that one has for their parents.
But a kind of love that you feel when another black woman compliments your new hairdo.
Or when a friend dabs you up when you are the only black faces in a white room.
A love that can only be felt between people who share the same struggles.
The same setbacks, the same uncompromising demeanor that screams, I AM HERE.
Black love matters…
Well at least to me it does. Black love matters because it simply has to.
Black love matters to me because my daddy is a black man.
And my momma is a black woman.
They created me and my black ass sisters and brothers, so that has to count for something right?
Not in this lifetime…
Our love must be strong because they are fixated on keeping us apart, creating socioeconomic divides to keep black people down like crabs in a barrow.
So you see, black love has to matter, I convinced myself that it has to. Because there’s no way in hell that I missed 3 months of writing, skipping days at the gym, and missing out on good, quality nights sleep just for black love NOT to matter.