Does not fight criminals,
but instead fights all the silly notions and subliminal self hatred
society attempted to install in his eight year old state of mind
sporting him Spalding
in the place where his father should have been standing.
Does not leap off tall buildings,
but instead breaks down walls
and climbs fortitude build by scared sisters like me,
who have only experienced a rotten sample of men
but aren`t too scared to re-acquaint their self
with the vast potential a good black man holds.
Does not have a double identity,
lying to the woman he loves,
offending her sensibility and her trusting heart.
Nor is he one of those creeping baby mama investors,
diversifying his portfolio.
Or a down low digging dirt bag.
Does not wear tight clothes.
Nor is he rocking a double XXL hood mentality,
dreaming of being the next lil Wayne, or Kobe Bryan,
before he dies in a drive by ambush
you may refer to as the black man’s circumstance.
Walks with a quiet dignity,
yet leaves powerful prints behind.
He’s as stubborn as his hair,
as proud as his nose,
as sincere as his green eyes,
and as soft as his roaming fingers,
that draws our dreams and desires
over the contours of my womanly ways.
as often as my heart beats,
and embraces my individuality unlike any other.
He is unafraid to acknowledge my womanly powers.
But most importantly,
lets me roam the reserved VIP corners of his heart,
and would easily allow me the use of his cape if I so desired.
And I swear,
since knowing him
I packed on a couple pounds of love and happiness
Since he won’t stop feeding me or loving me.
Is vulnerable enough to
cry, communicate, love and laugh
without missing a beat to his masculinity.
All because he has a woman who isn’t afraid to tell him SHE NEEDS HIM.
Who also irons out his cape each morning,
Never forgetting to remind him that his superman and therefore unstoppable.
Did I tell you my love is superman?
He really is.
If you do not believe me,
just look into my eyes
and I swear you’ll see him fly.
I love you baby, your my kryptonite
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