I stood in front of a melanated God,
One who seemed to debate every word that would come out my mouth.
If I said it was hot, he said it was cold.
If I said it was 12:01, he said it was past noon.
Every single thing was a debate.
I soon found he wanted to assert his dominance.
He was nothing like the men I had come across before.
My sharp tongue only fueled his desire to make me submit.
Submit to the inevitable,
One day he would rule my world and I would let him.
Me, the strong black woman that didn’t need to bow down to a man.
Those words I expressed to him one day,
The narrowing of his eyes showed his displeasure.
He then schooled me on the fact that submissive did not equate to weak.
Submissive in a woman was not being afraid to let the man lead and showing a man is nothing without his neck, his woman.
Submissive was accepting his vulnerable side the world was not privy to.
Submissive did not relinquish independence, it balanced the roles between two forces.
And submissive was not gender based,
For the right woman, the right man will submit when needed.
With that he won my heart,
Opened my mind to a new way of thinking.
The world will know my dominance,
But for him I will be submissive.