Cherish those nine months
Those are the only guaranteed moments
The second he is born
Not a single moment is guaranteed
At a moments notice his soul can be ripped from his body
A stray bullet
A too tight choke hold
Or a drug overdose
Can send a stream of tears
Rushing over
The edges of your sharp cheekbones
Sliding down
The slopes of your chin
Taking a plummet
To the dark abyss of the ground below
In praise to your fallen son
—
Whenever you get a chance to hold your Black Boy
Try to hold him tight
Try to transfer your
Love
Into his heart
Confidence
Into his spirit
Compassion
Into his soul
Let him know
He doesn’t have to wear a mask
He can be whoever or whatever he wants
Let him know
The chips may be stacked against him
But
He comes from a strong legacy of Kings and Queens
His Black skin—a testament of his birthright to his ancestor’s kingdom