I've had enough reasons to walk away—Dawn, Lisa... and now Larsa?
Bitch, please—stay the hell out of my face.
Let me be clear:
Trump does not own me.
This is not his decision.
I am not his property.
I’ve spent my entire life under someone else’s shadow—dimmed, quieted, made to shrink. But that time is up. This is my time now. My journey. My voice. My dreams.
And they’re not tied to Las Vegas.
I don’t want to buy a hotel here—I want the resort that was promised to me in the British Virgin Islands.
I’ve been exploited for political gain, thrown into situations that had nothing to do with me. The only “reward” I ever got was temporary freedom to travel—and that’s not enough anymore.
I’m trusting the plans that were in place before Devonte passed. And I will follow my dreams, with or without anyone’s permission or approval.
If my vision doesn’t fit into your idea of who I’m supposed to be? That’s not my problem.
All this confusion—I never asked for it. I never wanted it. I don’t appreciate it.
I am not defined by Scottie Pippen.
I am not one of his fantasies.
I am not your pawn.
I see more clearly now why God took Devonte. Maybe it was to save him from this madness that I’m still trying to break free from.
Because this life? It was forced on me.
Just like the sex that started it all.
I wish I never met that man.
But I’m grateful for the son I gave birth to—who loved me deeply.
So deeply that he was murdered for it.
And that’s why I’m done.
Europe is calling, and this time...
I’m not just going.
I’m leaving everything behind.
YOU TOOK EVERYTHING I OWN, INCLUDUNG THE ONLY MEMORY OF HIM (HIS ASHES)... WHAT CAN YOU SAY TO ME???
