When I was young, Momma warned me about the boys who would just want to undress me. She told me all about the ones who would break my heart. Momma said that I should never cry over them, because I deserved better.
She warned me about love, never letting me forget how it could disappear, how it could hurt and how sometimes it walked into your life hand in hand with disappointment. But at night, she would tuck me in with some fairy tale about Prince Charming and his princess. She gave me hope that if I listened to her advice, I’d find my knight in shining armor.
Here’s the thing; Momma never warned me about the soft skinned, brown eyed beauty I’d fall for. She never mentioned how her laugh would become my favorite sound; she never said anything about those smiles that could light up a room. She never told me what to do in case I felt the stampede of butterflies whenever she walked in. Momma never said that my fairy tale involved a Princess Charming and never a prince.
She didn’t warn me about the stares, about the whispered insults or about the bigots that preached hate. She didn’t tell me I would have to love in secret; she didn’t say a word about a goddamn closet. You see, Momma didn’t warn me about a lot of things. But worst of all, she didn’t warn me about the look she would give me when I told her the truth. She didn’t say she could look at me with the disappointment she spoke about when she talked of love…