I tire of being human: I wish to be holy. My hands, bless not bruise— my mouth, sing not sin— my heart, unbroken with purpose. It doesn’t make much difference, though. My time is limited here, and no matter if I bruise or bless, you still spit girl at me like it’s a foul word while blatantly studying the movement of my lips and the curve of my legs. I wish I were a shapeshifter. In my dreams, I am not girl but wolf, lion, beast. In my dreams, I am born free and unburdened, and no one will deign to underestimate my power, and pretty will be the least important thing about me. In my dreams, I shine gold and blind you with goodness. All my mistakes are turned to art and I race to the cliff’s edge and hurl myself, unselfconscious, at the stars. In my dreams, girl will be my battlecry and I will hear it echoed back from all across this scarred and ravaged world.
And yes, I believe my brief hiatus is over. If I haven’t responded to by the end of the weekend, it means I have completely missed it.
Stunning poem!!! And I love the picture at the top! Both so powerful!
I needed to read this today!!! Thank you so much, Maia! 💥⭐️🌖🌼🌸🌺🌹✍️♥️🌈🔥