Love Letter to the Late Bloomers

I’ve never been much of a ‘cool kid’. Growing up in a predominantly English-speaking junior high school, while being a French speaker, born and raised in Haiti, only used to wearing school uniform I learned the hard way how ostracizing it can feel to be different. Awkward black girl here.

My first date was 18.
My first kiss was at 19.

It wasn’t something I ever shared with the world, out of fear of being ridiculed. For whatever reason, even if I longed to experience all the romance I watched in the movies, it was important for me to find someone who shared my same spiritual values. It was after my first kiss I swore off men, because of a bruised heart and because I realized I didn’t know myself enough to love me for me and felt like it would be unfair to place those expectations on someone else to do what I couldn’t do for my self. So if you were to have met me in my twenties, and “I asked me why I was single?” I would’ve avoided the question. If I had today’s courage I would’ve answered: I’ve been in an abusive relationship with myself, and I am learning to love her, disheveled and all