Love & Relationships

Young, in love and dealing with the hate: Why your mum is a b***h

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On Feb 10, 2015

By Mfalme

Of late my name is always in her mouth, talking about “you and ‘that lover’(me) of yours.”

Even a blind man can see the disdain in her eyes.

Trying to pour shame on our love and shove you back into the closet you’ve been trying to escape since our first encounter.

We were 17 when we met and I looked at you and knew there was something wrong with me.  I noticed your eyes, so large with irises like black pools I wouldn’t mind floating in.  Your skin glowed the way I imagined the skin of rich womyn in the USA did.

So I asked you every semester if you spent your holidays ‘outside countries.’  I loved watching your strong arms and legs as you ran on the basketball court, dribbling that ball so effortlessly.  And your behind.

Oh Lorde that behind.

I knew I was gone one night after our usual ‘let me walk you to your room then you’ll walk me half the way back to mine so none of us has to walk alone for more than half the way’ routin.

You hugged me, and I knew. Jesus never hugged the saints like this.

Nothing has ever felt that powerful and pure.

We hugged and my soul knew I was home.

I found my soul mate at 17.3e26749490efcf2d16c2382ffa2a8dff

I have loved her since and at the ripe old age of 23 I knew I will never love anyone like this.

She has always been the braver one of us.

She wanted to shout it from the roof tops the moment we first kissed.

I reminded her that we weren’t even supposed to be kissing let alone telling anyone about it.  She stuck with me painfully when I decided I needed to kiss a few guys just to be sure, and is still with me now after my home spat me out when my parents heard rumours that she and I are not just best friends.

She loves me and I love her, there’s no question about that.

Being the impatient person that she is, she got tired of waiting for society to align with the stars and recognize that we are meant to be together (which is what I plan on doing!) so she came out to her mother.

I told her not to.

Which is why she did it in the middle of the night and informed me via Whatsapp.  Her mother was cool about it or pretended to be, or maybe she was just in denial and my excited love was too relieved to see that all was not well.

Now she’s living in a house covered in land mines and egg shells, never knowing when the atmosphere will crack or explode into one of her mother’s tantrums. Tantrums about how ashamed she should be of the fact that she is gay and how dare she even try to tell her or anybody else about it and.

You know what, I’m sick of it.

I know my baby is strong and she can handle a lot of things, but how long can one be expected to handle the rejection of a parent, a mother, the one person whose love for you is supposed to unconditional?

How long will I have to do the work of rebuilding her spirit while her mother so recklessly slams it on the ground every day?

But she can’t leave and I won’t ask her to.

The thought of the both of us homeless scares even me, her homeless girlfriend!  So I look at her everyday and remind her that I love her, and the black sea was named after her beautiful eyes and Eve must’ve had her behind to get Adam to do something so foolish.

Lorde that behind.

I compose text messages about strong hearts and resilient souls and spirits that will never ever break.

The one thing I want to tell her, but I can’t is “Baby, your mother is a b***h.”

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