Optimistic Heart

Fri, 10/16/2015 - 19:58 -- rharris

I’m tired of imagining what my love will look like. He will spot me out of a crowd and decide then and there that I am worth loving

I’m tired of making sure that I look “approachable” but “not too desperate” just in case I just so happen to meet him that day

I’m tired of watching chick flick movies and hoping it turns out the exact same way

I’m tired of only seeing successful Nicholas Sparks type love on the TV and in real life

I’m tired of feeling like my melanin cannot be loved

I’m tired of trying to be loved by the boys of my race who feel like I don’t prove my “blackness”

I’m tired of the “nobody can know” type love

Or the “things are too hard right now” type love-- knowing good and well you ain’t going through shit

I’m tired of the “oh you ain’t tryna fuck?” type love

Or the sexist role designated type love

I’m tired of the “You cool and all, but I don’t date black girls” type love


I’m tired of trying to uplift and advocate for black boys who seem to only disrespect and hurt black girls

I’m tired of venting and having conversations ending with “He wasn’t worth it anyway” when that’s all anyone ever says about black boys

I’m tired of injecting love into loveless situations… of trying to love someone so much that I forget to love myself

I’m tired of constantly giving myself to people who just take in as much as they can before their masks fall off

And in that moment, I can never hate them. I can only hate myself for believing it was true…. for believing I was happy

I’m tired of falling victim to my own optimism time and time again…

But why?

Why should I have to trap my sense of love in a box when it is oozing at the seams?

Why isn’t my personality enough?

Why is it too much to ask for black boys to see the beauty in my melanin alone?

Why is it so hard to love me?


I’m tired of them not loving me.

I’m tired of trying to explain why every black boys’ glass is half full while mine, in their eyes, sits without any substance at all.

I’m tired of staying hopeful, armed with a pen full of optimism only to write the names of black men and why they choose to objectify black women


It’s so hard to stay loving and black and woman in a world where no one sees your potential.

The only thing I can count on is God.

He is the only beat I have behind this weary heart filled with boundless love and no one to accept it.

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world


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