The mirror knows his past
It’s a window through his eyes
The body keeps a score,
a memory,
of whom it once was, but no longer exists
He’s not mad at her
She had to exist for him to be here,
for him to be the man he is.
There are those who only know of her
but not of him,
He’s not ashamed
He just doesn’t have time to explain
The struggle is less of her vs him,
now it’s the struggle of being black before anything.
He’s a man now,
But he must remember he’s Black before anything.
Before man.
Does your community accept you?
Respect you?
Allow you?
Maybe.
But lower your voice,
it’s deeper now,
it carries now,
people listen to you now,
but at what cost?
You pass now,
However you are suddenly folded into a history
a history that is both yours
and not.
So he carries it anyway.
This body.
This history.
His, even when it’s “not”.
And maybe that’s okay.
Hold those contradictions.
You can be both/and
Instead of either/or.
Exist in the space between.
Either way it’s fine.
The mirror still knows.
It reflects all version of
her,
him,
them.
Black.
the herstory.
the history.
the now.
Everything all at once.
