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Your ideas outdated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.
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.
