One of Us Is Dead

by Jeneva Rose

Olivia had a true talent for complimenting herself before she complimented others. She was the same with kind words and insults. I coined the term “kinsults” thanks to her. It was like she had created a cruel language all her own. You wouldn’t even realize she was insulting you, because they were wrapped up like a present, complete with a nice bow.

She was a forgive-and-forget kind of person. I, on the other hand, always believed there was another option on the table. Forgive, forget, or fucking never let it go.

You smiled when you were pissed, and you smiled when you were pleased.

Fear makes people crazy. Insecurity makes them crazier.

People that get their way think they’re the ones in control. But the ones that give are the ones that rule. It’s not the politician in office, but the donor behind the check that wields the sword.

The truth is, I’d rather be dead than poor, and the easiest way to stay rich is to stay powerful.

As humans, we define ourselves by the things we are most proud of—being a mother, a salon owner, a free spirit. But what happens when you lose that? Who do you become?

I no longer know who I am, because sometimes we become strangers to even ourselves.

Women weren’t meant to be quiet.