I don't know who
the next me will be,
what skin she'll be wearing,
whether she will learn to surf the waves
and not just dip her feet in them.
Will this be the year
she finally looks anxiety in
the eye and says
"You will not stop me?"
Will it be the year she finally
looks suicide in the eye and says
"You will not take me?"
My youth and her youth is slipping away
behind signatures and steering wheels,
behind money and percentages,
but these don't define her or me...
If she'll believe in herself,
throw herself into life's ride
and breathe, then she will be okay,
but if she is the harshest critic,
the most high of all perfectionists,
she might struggle.
I want to tell her that breathing
is the most beautiful thing she could
specialize in during her beautiful existence,
I want to tell her to not be terrified of the night,
and whatever lurks behind her eyelids,
It's just a dream girl, nothing more.
I want to tell her imperfection is beautiful,
I want to tell her to commit so
her life can be wonderful,
I want to tell her she wasn't raised
to howl over anyone,
I want to tell her: let them love you,
and let them leave you,
Let them hold you but
don't ever let them break you.
