you judged me out of my own beauty the same way you judged yourself out of that dress
The need for more love and less judgement of sisters who aren’t like us. The more of a need to uplift one another. The importance of seeing the brilliance in someone as it coexists with their imperfection. Therefore, I choose the concept of weight as an entry point. We judge one another just as viciously is we judge ourselves, not just because of weight, but because of gender identification, creed, ****** orientation, economic class, and more.
Voy a soltar frutos raíces amasadas en mi cráneo como azúcar querrás frotar tu dedo y lamer su polvo dulce, blanco granulado
en mi maceta crecen triángulos de sombras llenas de cuadrada soledad en su tierra querrás meter y embarrar tu dedo después sin pensarlo te lo acercarás y te lo meterás a la boca y ahí en tu lengua también mis raíces crecerán Dibujando mé hasta que en ti quede yo y en mi termines tu Soltando raíces
I ran like a wolf. Always trying to keep up. “Wait!” my aunts would scream, but I was off before they could stop me. The tiny dark haired girl, among a pack of five young boys. They would always utter “can you? ”. I’d ball up my tiny fists and say “yes”. Scraped knees, ****** fingernails, sprained ankles, and those bruised greens and yellows suspended on my back like floating clouds, although painful to the touch, none were enough to stop me. I was always competing. Always trying to make them eat their words “You can’t do it; you are a girl”.
Now that we’re older, I’m inclined to ask them how those words tasted.
I do not have any sisters. I grew playing with my cousins and my brother. All of them were boys. I tried to touch upon my experience as the only girl growing up.
Please tell me someone loves you well, so that I can take my small offering and burn it at the foot of a mountain, instead of hiking it’s trail to deliver it into your palms.
I want to know you are so loved, that it would be a poor gift to give you my affection, in comparison to what you’ve got.
Let me walk away from the shadow of the mount having burnt it, with an urn in hand, knowing you do not suffer, because her warmth walks you through the foliage and the wilderness of your heart which strengthens you with better tenderness and beckons you to flourish.