She Is Home
He walks through a world
that chews on his name
like it don’t deserve to be spoken whole
spits him out in pieces,
calls it survival.
They weigh his skin
like it’s evidence.
Measure his voice
like it’s a threat.
Break his spirit in public
and call it policy.
He carries that weight
on his back,
in his chest,
in the quiet places
no one checks for bruises.
But baby…
when he reaches my door
he don’t knock.
He can’t knock.
Because I already told him
“This ain’t a place you visit…
this is a place you belong.”
And he got the keys.
Not of metal.
Nor silver.
Not something that jingles in his pocket.
No
He got the keys in the way he loves me.
In the way he chooses me
even when the world won’t choose him.
And me
I am the lock and the welcome,
the threshold and the prayer.
I am home.
A Black woman
with walls built not from brick
but from grace that don’t crack under pressure.
I am a sanctuary
where his name ain’t questioned,
his walk ain’t policed,
his breath ain’t monitored.
Inside this space,
he can exhale.
Not that shallow, cautious breath
he’s been practicing outside
no…
I’m talking about that deep, soul-shaking inhale
that says,
“I made it back alive.”
I hold him
like the world never dropped him.
Speak to him
like he was never silenced.
Pray over him
like heaven is listening closer
when your voice calls his name.
And when the world tries to follow him in
tries to sneak past your peace,
tries to sit at your table uninvited
you remind it:
“Nothing enters here
that wasn’t built in love.”
Because home ain’t just a place
its protection.
It's intention.
It’s two souls deciding
that what they have
is sacred enough to defend.
So he lays his burdens at my feet
not as a weakness
but as a man who finally found somewhere
strong enough to hold them.
And I don’t break under it.
I rise.
I become the quiet
that heals his loudest battles.
The stillness
that teaches his chaos how to rest.
And as long as he loves me
not halfway,
not sometimes,
not when it’s easy
but fully,
intentionally,
like a man who knows what he’s protecting
he will never be homeless again.
Because I am…
I am the door,
the key,
the prayer on the hinge,
the safety in the storm.
She is… home.
An Ode to that which is Sacred
A poem by N'gamé 🦋
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