My girl, she is fierce.
She pulled out the tongue of a man
with her dragon teeth,
when he stuck it down where it doesn’t belong.
My girl, she is the princess. She is also the dragon.
Whoever wrote down that she has to be one or the other, obviously,
got it wrong.
My girl, she’s delicate.
I wiped her tears away, my lips on her cheekbones,
whispering prayer upon prayer, wishing justice upon a girl
that the world done wrong.
My girl, she is beautiful.
Her skin like charcoal, her eyes like fire
when she told me to run,
and her trembling body that night when
I stayed.
My girl, she is beautiful.
Her voice like Jasmine tea, her mind like the rivers,
when she told me of dreams about far away places and nightmares about demons with their
reptilian skin.
My girl, she is precious.
She took me to the blue ocean and held me as the sun set and the sun rose
out of the ember seas like a ball of fire.
Taught me about the sacred and holy things,
like how a human body is meant to be touched softly
and about how it craves the harshness
when it is hurting.
My girl, she is mine,
as I am hers.
We are spun out of our women
birthed out of a sea of blood,
how is it a surprise
how strong we are while we bleed,
while our bodies break and our eyes lose their color.
We are blood, we are hard work,
we are determination,
we are women.
