This ain’t a full-figured epithet celebrating big girl bliss. Nor is it polyamorous practicality as displayed on premium cable. Instead it is a revelation granted to me, given by me to myself first…
And then, All women who find themselves in a peculiar state of solitude that You didn’t intend to be your friend as long as it has… Now, you have grown weary of the wait and comtemplate on how the Hour glass is ticking. Meanwhile, you are trying your best to sticking it out And finding your strength waning….feigning singlehood with smiles that hide Them tears at night. Smiles that serve as gates to the fortress built around Your heart. Ain’t nobody getting in, we say, cause we been there….done seen That land of let downs and desire not to be a resident of it no more…but won’t resign And remain…working through the disdain and the pain…then girding up to swallow that burn again—loving men is our poison of choice.
See, that’s the problem with us girls that’s got that big love. We either stay too long or ride a wave that’s destined to brew into a typhoon that eventually crashes against the mainland of our emotional seas. In the path of destruction lies our intentions, a complete disaster. So, we master the ability to rebuild—and fill ourselves with hope. A hope that we add to butter smooth words; a hope that we blend with prayer, a hope that we use to churn their simplistic lust for us into pure and honest desire that will pant after us as we have allowed ourselves to be captured. We have a knack for issuing decrees, passing intimate legislation complete with haughty words about our new ‘Dos and Don’ts’.
But in the end, we find ourselves stirring them in a bowl, eating those words with a platinum spoon; and frowning at the bitter aftertaste. Some of us never make it out the starting gate. Do all the preparation, the training, and what not—but here’s what we got—a forfeit; a no show, a cancellation; a denied opportunity to rise to the occasion. But thanks be to My God for a brand new angle on the situation—perhaps our love is too big for one—it’s for an entire nation. Let them step inside and find their solace through the labors of love we harbor in our bellies. We belong to everyone and no one in particular…with this gift of a load—love too big for one container—pouring it all would make it explode. Let the nations step inside; find their solace through the labors of love we harbor in our bellies. We are everywhere and nowhere at the same time…with beautiful minds that think in terms of light years….much unlike our peers who have cosigned on the dotted line of the domestic contract with warm stoves brewing cook up and choking on unspoken plans.
Instead, we stand in demand of deliverance from an evil that seeks to lock us in a box of apathy. Let the nations step inside; find their solace through the labors of love we harbor in our bellies. We convict like Tamar. We judge like Deborah. We inquire and establish new order like Sheba. We carry redemption like Mary. We love like Magdelene. Only Big Love can acquire a place in legacy, And that is the blessing of being a girl with Big Love.