For you to remain you must leave


If you’re a woman of colour, and you are upset about what someone, maybe white, maybe a dude, has done to you (your feelings, your soul, your heart, your body – you know, the usual stuff), it doesn’t really matter if they call themselves your friend/are your friend:

if you’re going to cry anywhere near/to the person who hurt you, remember that even tears are a luxury you don’t have easy access to. 

Remember that you still have to time your tears to make sure that they will be not be received with resentment or hate or disgust or weariness or indifference.

(People’s love for you is limited, scarce, and you cannot risk quenching your thirst through mirages.)

You have to, in the middle of your suffering, pain, turmoil – make calculated decisions weighing the odds of power, space, privilege and above all, the value of your emotionality.

Yes, value.

And don’t forget: your tears aren’t that valuable to anyone, really.

Because that’s how people think of you, you know that, right?

That they think of every piece of you in terms of what you’re worth… to them.

Yes, worth.

You know that your body has always been commodified, right?

Did you really think your tears would be any different?

And what can they do with your tears?

Can they fuck it?

Can they sell it?

Can they use it?

If you’re going to cry, you had better realise that all your tears are, are an uncomfortable reminder of your humanity and since you live in a world that insists on how inhuman you are – the response to your tears will be everything but an affirmation of your humanity.

And like every single thing in this world that is unfuckable, unusable, unmarketable, your tears, before you cry, before you meet him the time that he hurts you, before you meet him for the first time – your tears have already been marked for the world’s biggest landfill.

So.

If you’re going to cry, you had better find a way to make that count for something.

If you’re going to cry, you had better weaponize those tears.

You had better make them into something so holy, so sanctified, that if they try to consume even this, that the water sears the flesh there on their tongues, and scars it in the shape of your name –

a word they could never properly pronounce anyway.

You leave them burning inside out with your aftertaste.

You leave them choking, drowning in that which they dared try to consume.

You leave them –

You leave them.

You 

leave them.

You leave

them.

You leave.

You leave so that all that remains

is

you,

and with no price they can name, you are priceless.

with no value they can give, you are invaluable.

with no esteem they are capable of having for you,

you are inestimable.

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