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“I understand you want to protect me, but sometimes you gotta let me loose. Or else, these hoes will think they can play me any type of way. That’s not happenin’.”
“Do you see ya hands?” I asked. “No,” she replied. “These hands are big enough to handle anything we face, Pretty. The only time my wife needs to worry is if anything spills over. Aight?” Her shoulders relaxed. “Okay.”
This was love. There was no other place I wanted to be than in his arms. Even after seeing the monster within him, I refused to think that part of him would ever hurt me in any way. That part of him was reserved for anyone who dare to cross him. While I prayed no one ever crossed him again, I knew damn well it was only a matter of time. One thing about certain people, they could never leave well enough alone.
“I was raised by a family of men who instilled in me what the love of a father is supposed to be like. That’s not to say that men who are raised without a father are incapable of showing their children love. Really, it’s all about wanting what’s best for someone you either created or took full responsibility for. I spoil my sons because I don’t want the streets to. I scold and correct my sons because I don’t want the laws to. I give equal attention, time, patience, and grace to each of you because I want y’all to pass that same shit down to ya own kids one day.”
“I pour into my sons because I want them to pour into the woman they will one day bump into and realize is the love of their lives.”
Sometimes a muthafucka had to pop out and remind a nigga, behead a nigga, kill a nigga, bury a nigga and his whole blood line… Or whatever that nigga said.
“You can’t possibly know what you’re askin’,”
“I’m pretty sure I’on give a fuck right now,” he stated. “Bet.”
“When was you gon’ tell me that you can play like that?” I questioned. “They fucked with my wife, bruh. I’m willin’ to come out and play un-fuckin’-fair behind that woman.” “Real shit,” Dothan muttered.
“You called me out, nigga! Here the fuck I am!” Pulling the trigger was too fucking easy.
“Hakeem loved the fuck outta yo’ ungrateful ass. He would’ve done anything for you. And you turned around and stabbed him in his fuckin’ back. You the worst type of nigga I never wanna know.”
With the men we had, our memories weren’t filled with trauma. They were filled with love. Everyone who thought to bring harm to me and the people I loved paid for it in the best way, and I didn’t feel a single shred of empathy for them. They wanted my life. My husband took their lives instead. That was quite poetic.
