Today I’m making a vow to treat my sistahs like sisters–where she is loved. Where the old days of “if you mess with her, you mess with me!” ring true. Where you’d never let anything or anyone come between you and your sister.
Where “you and us are half a heart”. Where disrespecting her in front of you is never an option. Where you are her diary and blood is the lock and key.
Of course, we appear to be unrelated, but the melanin we share represents the blood running through our veins that history poured. We may not agree on everything or anything and may have to part ways, but don’t even THINK about coming to me for a bashing, gossiping, or degrading fest starring my sister. I am above that, even if you are not.
And that same melanin that checks your attitude at the door, checks mine too. It’s a reminder that while our stories have different chapters there are certain similarities that only our skin can bring. Regardless of her status, her build, how she wears her hair, how she speaks, or whether she shops at Nordstrom’s or Dollar Tree–our rented time in this world has imperfections and grave-carrying stories alike.
So, while you’re placing those poisonous arrows in a bow carved with whatever justifications you deem suitable, I will be her fortress made from bricks of sisterhood. You can cross the line looking for her enemy, but what you will find is me–
–a defender, wearing the mask of my sistah’s keeper.