We are not your regular kind of girls. We are not feminists, yet you won’t see us conforming to the odds.

We are your butterfly kind of girls.

We are the color after the rain. We are, to you, like the lyrics that make a song completely perfect, like you listening to Davido’s ‘If’ as you wait to scream, “my money, my body na your own.”

You see us in everything you do. Our smell lingers on your bedsheets long after our departure. Yes, we smell of the tropics, but we reek of certain things, like Freedom, pierced vaginas, dreams, salt and water.

These are the reasons we don’t stay, the reasons you can’t hold on to us for so long.

They are words familiar to us, familiar in the sense that the world identifies us with them. They begin to call us as the “Bleep girls”. But they are just mere words.

God.
Bleep.
Love.
Hate.

…One word!

No, we do not confuse love for sex. We understand that wanting a man is different from wanting to build a home, and we have learnt to be indifferent about our desires and wants.

We do not love for long periods. Our uncertainty is not sure to us. We are finding reasons not to stay. One minute we are burning for you, the next we are burning, but for freedom, and when we leave we do not want you thinking you are insufficient, that you do not fill us. Because baby, you do and that’s the thing that scares us. We are not comfortable with discovering we are so complete with you. We want a life where we can live with or without.

On certain nights, when we are without, we think about you. We see you as a prayer, a mantel, a home. But then, we do not choke you by becoming the thing around your neck. We find another way of depriving you of air: we grant you freedom until


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