Dear Lord

  Dear Lord, I worry about  her aging all alone. I wonder how it feels like to fall so deep in love and then watch it fade. I worry about her trying to grab hold of the violent wind. Only to sleep at night with nothing to hold. No one to hold her. No one to share her hopes with. No one to share her fears with. No one to share her dreams with. Does she still dream? I worry about her telling her daughter that if she was given a time machine she would go back in time and not get married. How will her baby girl confidently walk down the aisle not knowing what awaits beyond the ‘I dos’? How will her baby girl confidently walk down the aisle when all she knows are broken hearts and a cold home beyond the ‘I dos’? How will her baby girl stop looking for reason not to walk down the aisle in fear of history repeating itself through her beyond the ‘I dos’? How will her baby girl receive a love she's never seen being given beyond the ‘I dos’? I worry about her watching her sons grow into...

 Dear Lord, The moment I told the barber I want to go bald he laughed. Helped me with the apron. Changed the hair clippers of the shaving machine. He then looked me in the eye. Note. Not through the mirror in front of us. But straight into them and went like, umpabanga? Are you sure? At this point am now laughing. And affirm I want it all off. I was ready to step into a territory inhabited by a few brave individuals. Individuals with no ‘abantu bazothini’ syndrome. Individuals who own the bald look. He then says how he thought I was just messing with him and the conversation quickly shifts to how angry I must be, to take it all on my hair as he started to get busy doing what he knows best. Angry? How can one think a crown reset is all about emotions? Anger for that matter. Forgive their questioning stares Lord. Forgive them for conforming to ideas of seclusion and segregation nomatter how small. Forgive them for assuming that I am angry for having a new hair do. Lol. When he was do...