Whitney Houston and Lela Rochon in Waiting To Exhale
THE POURS MEMORIZES LIKE EMOTIONAL FLAMES
COMING BACK TO TAKE AWAY THE PAIN.
SWEET TOUCHES TURNED INTO HARSH RESPONSES,
NAVIGATING THE WAY SHAME DISPLAYED
WISHING FOR NOVACANE TO MASK THE LANE.
I AM WITNESSING WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO CONVERSE AWAY THE PAIN,
SHAWDOWING FEARS,
WHAT A SHAME.
YEA YOU USE KNOW ME,
NOW LOOK AT YOU FIGHTING WITH WORDS THAT SHAPES THE WAY YOU KNOW ME.
A MILLON REASONS WHY YOU DON’T KNOW ME,
BUT I’LL LET YOU READ TIMELINES THAT CAME BEFORE ME.
Before Me is my reminder that I existed before the pain learned my name. This poem comes from the place where memory burns, where soft moments harden into survival, and where shame tries to rewrite who I am. I speak from experience—navigating love that changed its tone, carrying wounds that asked for numbness just to keep moving. Writing this piece is how I converse with my pain instead of letting it speak for me. When people say they know me, I let them understand this: there are timelines before the damage, before the assumptions, before the version of me they hold onto. This poem isn’t an explanation—it’s a boundary. I am not defined by what happened to me, only by how I chose to speak after.
