A man meets a woman; a woman meets a man, we fall in love...  15 years later, we traveled back-and-forth for each other, lived together in 2 countries, five cities, eight homes and still counting. I'm the writer I always dreamt of being, a businesswoman, and an innovator. He's a Grammy-winning producer & musician as well as a musical content expert that breathes and lives tunes, beats, and sound. We are both dreamers and thinkers, still on our quest to greatness and success, together and apart.

The man I call home is the man they fear.

The man I love must work harder to prove himself. He has no time for vacation, but they keep telling him to go back to this continent, to a place he has never been to before, where he doesn’t belong anymore. A land where they robbed bodies, identities, and legacies, and changed where the home will be for him, for them, forever.

The man I love has been all over the world, got awarded with the highest level of shiny statues and markers of success, speaks a few languages, but still, some countries he avoids going. 

Knowing his shade of skin is not tolerated everywhere. His existence alone and of us together, can create a riot from within heart and minds, can escalate to violence and intrusion.
The man I love is some mysterious magic to them, a wonder they cannot comprehend, some cool they all want to be like, but can’t stand the thought of being too close to.

The man I love has to think twice before he demands what he deserves, has to stop himself from raising his voice. He gets treated for less than what he is until I come around. They see my face and their real face is exposed. Now he’s different; they’re safe. When he’s on stage he’s the ultimate show when he’s walking down the street; they seem to pick him consistently out of the crowd. 

What are they so afraid of when the stage lights go out?

My eyes were widely shut for years, on all fronts, by any means necessary, blindly refusing to see him through their eyes. I see his color, I know the lack of mine, but I couldn’t see the beast they make of him, wouldn’t look at the evil participant they see in me. 

The years went by and the day has come that I agreed to look directly at him like they did, the day my heart shattered. The day I stopped seeing the American dream and started seeing the American nightmare. The tears started shedding, massive as the weight on his shoulders, transparent as the ugly in them, and the world has never been the same since.

I’m not a hero. Not a saint. I don’t carry a flag of no country or no state. I’m not an example for no one. I’m forced to be a symbol of victory, of love, a banner of courage, just for adoring him. I catch a glance, a sigh, spit, a cough, when we pass the street together. I find their eyes looking at me, looking to see what’s oh-so-wrong with me. Not seeing clearly, that for me, he is everything that is right. I look at the sun hitting his silk-woven skin, the rays of gold spur out, and I can swear he is made of sunshine, sweat, iron and glory.

In his arms, I’m home. And when I’m there, there’s nothing more for me to fear, but the ones that fear him.