The universe had to fall apart into dust first to become its majestic, infinite self. What makes you think this trauma, this devastation, won't be th… - Nikita Gill

Ghosts of the person you used to be are so proud of who you are, they live on inside you applauding you for living on despite your scars.

When I was a little girl and my teachers sent notes home complaining
that I was as loud as the boys, that it wasn't lady like for a girl
to be this outspoken, this raucous, instead of forcing me to tone it down
to the timber of a stage whisper, just a few notes above a whimper
you took me by the hand to the hilltop by our house,
told me to use my voice by shouting to my heart's content,
told me never to forget that I was a girl not a mouse
and if I believed I had to change myself to suit anyone else I shouldn't
that no matter what they said my voice was so important.
You then visited my school, called a meeting with my teachers
sat them all down and said that you were raising a rebel girl
to be a warrior woman, and if she could not speak,
the same way boys are allowed to, if she had to turn her voice into sighs
then how will she utter the battle cries that were needed when her warrior sisters
called upon her to help them defend the daughters of this world.

All because you were born into a family that could afford these things for you. This is called a privilege and you must never forget it.