I want love to be shouted like the media chants a burning story.
I want to use love as frequently as our mothers, daughters, friends and colleagues are being raped and killed and their offenders quickly forgotten.
I want love to flow as far as colonialism shed black people’s blood.
I want love like how I long for air, trying not to drown, even though I know how to swim.
What? Thought I could not swim? Because I am black?
That’s why I have to keep swimming and keep loving. I must prove them wrong. Black people can love, black people can swim.
Even though the shallow may be too shallow, for me, sometimes the deep doesn’t know I need to doggy paddle.
Just to stay away from barking up the wrong tree. Just to stay at bay from the sea of men.
I have to keep swimming to stay alive and I have to keep swimming to get to shore.
Sometimes I have to keep swimming to feel less of the pain and more of the rain that washes the shame.
I have to keep swimming, I have to keep loving. The pain won’t stop if I don’t.
I have to keep swimming, I have to keep loving.
I want love to be open like church doors on tithing day, and frequently filled like Easter weekend, and care free like New Year’s day.
I want love to be as anticipated and longed for as the Second Coming.
I want love to be proclaimed like how we condemn.
I want to swim the Red Sea to get to you, to part the waves that won’t allow us to love.
I have to swim, I have to love.
I have to keep swimming to love.