[dropcap]She stands[/dropcap] in a school yard, on a playground, at a bus stop, on the sidewalk, reflected in the wet spots of my face
Your daughter. Her daughter. Their daughter. Our daughters.
This world, is breaking them.
I want to tell her, that she is innocence and potential and full of enough ink to write her message across all the days. I want her to know she can swaddle herself in cotton candy love; that she doesn’t have to seek it outside; that she is enough, but that if she wants to, that’s just fine too. Tell her not to hold her breath. Tell her not to apologize for taking up space in this world. Tell her that no matter what, in the darkest hours of her darkest days that there is someone who loves her. Tell her that that someone should be herself. Tell her to look inside for reassurance and outside to reassure.
I want her to know that her hands are made of glue, and that the world is hers for the taking, that she has the power to put all the pieces back together. I want you to tell her for me.
Long before she becomes tortuous and entirely adolescent, tell her that life is a series of stages. Tell her that sexuality is fluid and flexible, tell her that she should think with her brain and care with her heart, tell her that mistakes will happen but that shame should not be a part of her life.
“When you have shame,” you’ll say, “they have all the power.”
Teach your daughters to live without shame and no one will ever control them.
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