In Memory Of Her

In loving memory of her infested mind.

Oreoluwanimi Ade
2 min readSep 23, 2020

on my tombstone, I lay these bouquets

withered orchids and starved roses. visible and substantial enough to express a great divide. an exit with an apparent fight, unchallenging.

I liked to assume that the process of dying is intimately ushered by struggle, agony and anguish. Mine wasn’t. It was blissful like the dawn after an apocalypse. The relief that comes unhooking your bra. I swear on my WAP it was…seventh heaven.

It was one hell of a battle. No, not the part where I fought back, it was the part where I surrendered to defeat because I had exhausted my last bar on the battle to stay alive. It was time to go.

On that bright and cloudless morning, I laid to rest the murky and hazed part of me. the part that was okay with if my failure unfolded out of my decision to not try. To give up without a fight. the part of me that was consistently giving excuses to come last in everybody else’s world. Why I can be half-loved, Why it’s okay to not count, to be unworthy, despicable, pitiful. I let her die, facilely.

In my ceremonial dress and slingback, I stood at the entrance of my own tomb where my infested mind was laid, I confidently threw my middle finger and waved it like a freaking trophy.

Here’s to me being in control of my mind, body, sanity and heart and here’s to me running it however the fuck I want.



Oreoluwanimi Ade

Bare with me, I'm a private poet with my catalogue, a by-product of solitude and heightened individuality; each story become a testament to my singular journey