As I walk this stretch of road for this journey I ask who are ‘my people’. It is a general ask not a specific ask because the universe has shown who ‘my people’ are repeatedly even if I didn’t know they were my people at the time.

My people don’t always match the ones I’ve invested heavily in, I’ve made some mistakes. If I am fortunate I will keep making mistakes because they are a part of life and I am here to live.

I am reminded of that early morning with a & B and that slick comment from the woman with the cane about leaving to be with my people. She was right then even though she was trying to throw all of the shade. They are my people.

My people are those who appreciate and value and cheer me on. They are the ones who pull my hem and remind me of who I am or who I want to be. They knuckle up for me and to me if needed. They judge the shit out of me but still find a way to love who they judge. They hold me accountable and choose to be an active part of my success and if necessary my failures.

They sit me on a sofa and make me cry or play a song before I’ve allowed myself to ingest the self defense of coffee.

They call me bitch.

I’ve chosen wrong in the past but the thing about my people is that they choose me so it doesn’t matter if I fuck things up from time to time.

In recent times my default has been Drake no new friends. I didn’t actively assess the friends I do have though. Yes the incident brought some people to the front and allowed others to be left behind, but an accurate assessment of those who remained not so much. It’s not even that they were bad in a specific sense its the lack of reciprocity. And I’ve asked myself when one opens up their home is that not enough? As ugly as this may sound the answer to that is a no. The gesture is grand but the cost is beyond my ability to pay.

Aphrodite Brown