Bahama Drama February 15, 2025

Woman of God

I ain’t even know why I doing this, but I just feel like I need to talk to somebody. Maybe somebody out there could understand.

I been through it with one man. Love him with everything I had, and he still break me down like I was nothing. I used to wait up for him every night, sitting on the bed, staring at the door, waiting to hear the handle turn. But it never turn when it should. Instead, he reach home all kinda hours, sometimes days later, smelling like perfume that ain’t mine, with hickeys on he neck and a stink smirk on he face.

You ain’t good enough, he used to say, pushing past me like I was in he way. You ain’t like them.

And I try. Lord know I try. I cook he food, keep the place clean, do everything to be the woman he want. But it ain’t never matter. I was just the one home waiting while he was out doing what he want.

And when he was home, he used to make me pay for it.

A slap if I say the wrong thing. A punch if I cry too much. A kick if I in he space. He used to sit down drinking, looking for any lil reason to remind me I wasn’t good enough.

But God don’t sleep.

One of them woman he was chasing introduce him to something else. Cocaine. That grip him fast. I watch him go from big and bold to desperate and broke. The same man who used to walk round like he own the world now was stumbling, slurring he words, losing everything. The money dry up, and so did the woman. Before long, he was nothing but a crackhead on the street.

Then one day, he disappear.

I ain’t see him for months. Then months turn to years. And I move on. Or at least, I try.

But one day, I walking through town, and I see him.

A bum. Filthy. Clothes tear up. Shaking from withdrawal. I almost ain’t recognize him. But when I look good, my heart drop.

It was him.

The same man who used to tell me I wasn’t good enough. But now, he eyes was empty, lips crack up, hands trembling. He ain’t even know who I was at first. He was just a man life done mash up.

I shoulda keep walking. I shoulda leave him there. He deserve it.

But I ain’t do it.

I carry him home. I bathe him. I clean him up. I feed him with the same hands he used to make suffer. Day by day, I try help him, try remind him who he was before he let demons take over.

He ain’t all the way back. He might never be. Some days he just stare off like he seeing things. Some nights he wake up shaking, talking foolishness. But I still here, trying, helping him piece himself back together little by little.

People call me stupid. They say he a lost cause, that I don’t owe him nothing. But maybe that’s what make me different from the rest of the world.

Maybe I just the kinda woman who love even when love give me every reason to stop.

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You have a good heart. Have you ever seen the movie diary of a mad Black Woman. I’m just asking!

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Woman of God

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