Dear Black girl who gives pieces of herself away but masters keeping a few chunks for self. Dear Black femme who adores their own company and has a world of friends in their head cos small talk with other humons is confusing. Dear Black negress whose secrets haunt the depths of compassion. Dear
Black shero who thrives in chaos cos a life without clutter is scary. Dear Black girl scholar who inhales to deal. Dear Black girl who loves strong, holds on and doesn’t let go. Dear carefree Black girl who’s full of potential but tired of folk talmbout you as if how you’re living isn’t good enough. Dear
Black mama working yo’ arse off but you’re still sitting pretty at square one. Dear Black girl who picks their skin and gnaws at the inside of their cheek cos it’s all too much to handle. Dear Black womon who cares for your mama cos you don’t throw people away. Dear BaP (Black american Princess) who
wants to be famous but can’t mange to sing that first note in front of anyone other than baby dolls and stuffed animals. Dear heartbroken Black girl who prefers pain cos it’s more predictable than pleasure. Dear Black girl who died by suicide know that, you committed no crime. Dear Black wife
who sleeps with clothes on and on the edge of the bed cos you never know when you’ll have to run. Dear Black witch who only cast spells in the summer cos you suffer from seasonal depression. Dear Black waitress whose feet defy gravity. Dear Black ballerina who can’t tuck yo butt. Dear Black girl
writer whose ideas come a mile-a-minute and they’re shiny and new and dope and love and intricate but you’re too sensitive to share them with the world so you fill-up notebooks and journals. Dear humon Black female, give yourself permission to live, freely.