Myths

They assume Black girls are pliable because we bend, and they never see us break, impenetrable because our self-harm scars don’t leave an obvious mark, superhuman because our trauma is painted on the canvas of a smiling face.

The truth is we bleed internally, and one day, we pass out from all the hemorrhaging

Alone.

The myths can’t save us from what we carry.

Innocence

When they steal your innocence, the predators move on like nothing happened, the world moves on like you’re a casualty of time.

But you my dear, you stay frozen, paralyzed, vulnerable, unprotected, a surrendered captive bound by your own ruminations, a victim left to question how you will ever walk again without your innocence.

As time moved on, it never paused to acknowledge how you felt so useless afterward, how you wanted to die inside, how life became so heavy.

Progress

And she knew she was healed when everything inside her made its way out, when she stopped suppressing her progress to silence her doubts.

Luggage

Don’t forget to pack your Black girl joy. In this life, you deserve to carry something other than pain.