You do not have words to explain any of this, the full measure of the loss. Do words even exist to explain some forms of devastation, are there pictures that approximate in real-world terms what the shattered heart of a Black girl looks like? This is why you tuck it away quietly in secret pockets. This is why you act like you are fine. This is why you go to school and pretend that algebraic equations that never add up to your father coming home make some kind of sense. This is why sometimes you think, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
