Why be a half-finished poem in some forgotten poet’s story, when one can be an odyssey in and of herself, part magic, part villain, part Goddess, par… - Nikita Gill

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.

And darling, I hope your remember to kiss the ghosts goodnight. They are only older versions of you that you have had to discard and forget.

Which is to say, when we feel like life is overwhelming, we must remember that we’re just sparks of energy borrowing skin. That no matter how much this pain feels everlasting, this is just the temporary fabric we are in.