'I Wanted to Believe You': This Achingly Beautiful Poem Sums Up Bill Cosby's Betrayal to His Fans

This is a love letter to Bill Cosby.

Mr. Cosby,

We met a couple of times.

Worked together.

When I was young

And didn’t know

You were a rapist.

The first time,

We talked on the phone

I was surprised by the tone

Of your voice

It was much different than the Thursday, TV dad;

Smooth, calm and buttery.

You said nothing funny

We talked about money

You asked me about my dreams

Questions,

I thought, a man of your stature

Would ask.

You gave to Central High’s campaign

A million dollars

There was a gala

You were the center of attention

A bright light at the end of their hall of fame

You didn’t know

They would spend your money

But believe the women, still.

Later that year

We met again

Organized a rally

You led

Through South Philly neighborhoods

You urged kids

To stop the violence

Pull up their pants

Be dignified.

Back then

I didn’t know the politics of respectability

I photographed

Hundreds of bright eyes, looking up at you

Full of hope

Believing that your interest in them

Mattered

That day you were a hero,

Still

Before the paradigm of political correctness

Shifted.

Your ideas outdated

“Bootstrap” motivation

Exposed

Of not holding the systems accountable

So you

Became part of the problem.

I remember when you hugged me goodbye that day

It was kind

Grandfather-ish

Much like I imagined

A hug from a TV dad.

I wanted the best for you

As the women came forth

I wanted to believe you

And that you didn’t do it

So I prayed

Not for you

But for truth

And justice

And I waited

For the verdict.

Mr. Cosby,

This is a love letter

Because I loved you

In the way

Most young black girls

Searching for the image of a dad

A home

A family

A hero

A leader

A man

The way

We

loved you.

But today,

There is a verdict

And I’m sorry

For you

For the women

For the broken hearts

For the dimming of bright lights

On Hall of Fame walls.

Sorry that all the good deeds

You did

And all of the money

You gave

For buildings

For books

For better…

Could not erase

The vile acts

That occurred

In the dark hours

Of your being.

This poem was originally published on Medium.

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