To my beautiful, black, queer child,

You gave me my first taste of motherhood

at the age of 6

As soon as I saw you after hours of anxiously waiting

I knew that you were mine

It did not matter that she had birthed you,

I would breathe life into you

and you were mine

At 16, I sit next to you as you sleep

as I do most nights

and I begin to understand

why I’ve never felt the need to have children

I have had one for as long as I can remember

I am as much your mother as this Earth is.

To my beautiful, black, queer child,

I gaze upon your sleeping form in awe

You are perfectly-formed

and I never want to stop

looking at your small face,

fragile fingers, and intermittent snores

I am trying to stain my mind with this image of you

for I will be gone soon

I can not bring myself to let go of your hand

unconsciously curled around mine

like your body did when you were 6 weeks

and I was 6 years

Is this the heartbreak of motherhood?

To be forced to let go of the hand

you create and shape,

knowing the dangers waiting outside of these doors.

My beautiful, black, queer child,

I am trying so desperately

to be everything I needed when I was you

but it’s still not enough

There will always be those who long to hurt you

simply because they can

I can’t protect you

I am sorry.

My beautiful, black, queer child,

With your huge eyes, kind smile,

and unbroken trust

Stop rushing into adulthood,

stay unburdened awhile longer,

stay asleep as long as you can,

your eyes will be opened far too soon.

My beautiful, black, queer child,

I love you

You are my everything

I have never felt the need to protect so fiercely

When I leave all of this behind,

force my eyes ahead with shoulders squared

I can’t help but attempt to turn and glance

You are the only thing I will ever look back on,

my beautiful, black, queer child.

Art and poem by Jahleelah, 16, who is an activist, photographer and poet. Jahleelah is passionate about equal rights, contemporary art and alternative music.