Home was the coconut oil my mothers hands used to glaze my scalp with. She wrote "love" between the parts. While "parts" where the only way I could describe my being, because somehow I couldn't quite connect the dots to my thoughts anymore. I was scattered. And Daddy gave me forehead kisses; whispered forgiveness and told me to hurry up and deliver that to myself. So my sister handed me patience with a soap box; sat in an audience of one said "its okay, I'm listening." And I stood tall and screamed at the top of my lungs "HELP!" But she heard; kicked bones straight when I felt my spine curve back into the first letter of his name.
Bought a mirror and forced myself to be kind to a reflection that has always been there. Raised my hand high like the self esteem that I began to gain. Held my own hand, and at night surrounded myself with pillows because loneliness was no excuse for using. Prayed to my God, for I am because he is. Tears streamed happiness upon my face, as I looked at friends who showed me I was better without.
Put hands on my own heart and found solace in it's determination to keep me here. So I stayed, and with every beat it told me I was okay. If not right now, tomorrow was a new day and we would make it.
I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't, so this is my ode to you. By you I mean me, because Houston said "not made to break" and I'll admit we bent a little but took care.
The thing is love isn't something that these men are introducing us to, I promise we had it before.
We'll only continue to have it if they leave.