Dearest Duchess. I hope you see It. I hope you see It clearly now. That thing. That thing that beauty cannot kill. You assumed as many of us have that once they encountered your poise and Grace that you would no longer have to face It. Not there. Not in a royal place. Not with the entire world in your face watching. Not with the paparazzi gawking. As they began talking you recognized It. That thing. That thing you were sure you left when saying farewell to these shores for a new life. Yes, you were a Black Woman and you were also his wife, right? | It was unamused, completely unbothered. You were lulled into a false sense of security by the existence of the resistance to It by your father at a time when interracial relationships were much harder. Not to mention how many times you faced It in Hollywood. You made it in Hollywood. You left It in Hollywood. You thought. Now your soul feels caught Between the hell you see and the hell you feel. You no longer can differentiate between what is the hate they gave over the hate that’s real. That real loathing of yourself for thinking that It would ever relinquish It’s hold to you and your Black Beauty. No need to hold on to the shame we intimately understand your pain. For many of us know It when we feel It and we call It by Its name… White supremacy is a beast. And beauty cannot kill It. |
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