Nobody told me it was okay to leave, so I stayed. When the voices said ugly, broken, damaged goods, I stayed.
When I sat by the mirror and all I could see was crimson with blotches of black, I stayed and built a foundation on the colors of my pain. I should have left.
Leaving is as simple as it sounds. You hold your tongue between your teeth and walk away from home with nothing but the clothes on your back and the pain in your veins. Sometimes, leaving is the path to survival
Maybe leaving is as complicated as smashing the mirrors and making the shards into bèbè ìdí. Leave a souvenir of you for those coming behind: broken things and crimson red with blotches of black.
Leaving is a sport. I realized when I had to walk away from the mirror. One step at a time, I followed the darkness to a place of light.
Love taught me the art of leaving. Roll the memories into a joint and whisper it to the sea. It can’t hurt from across seven seas.
Life taught me to leave. When they came for me, with rods christened love and words the shape of daggers,
I became one with the wind.