I looked down on you in the sandbox,
when you were just barely six.
Crashing Tonka trucks and throwing rocks,
a pint-sized rebel just for kicks.
Despite being told that they were for boys,
you continued to stick to your tomboyish ways.
After all, you didn't care for beauty and poise.
And it took years to realize that this wasn't a phase.
I looked down on you in the baseball pitch,
when you were right around nine.
The sole girl of the team who refused to switch.
You were taunted and ridiculed, but not once did you whine.
After hours upon hours of chasing the ball,
Not once did you wonder
If this was the team you played for at all.
But saying so would be quite the blunder.
I looked down on you in your grandmother's house,
when you'd just turned eleven.
Forced into a dress and as meek as a mouse.
Changing out felt better than heaven.
A hatred of frills drew you to the men's aisle,
where the mannequins offered silent suggestions
with which you adopted new styles.
Leaving your mother with a new set of questions.
I looked down on you in the locker room,
when you finally hit thirteen.
Was it weird to crave her perfume?
Or to reminisce about what you'd seen?
Were you allowed to look at her that way?
And feel the heat in your core
when her bare skin was on display?
Deep down, you knew you wanted more.
I looked down on you when summer came to an end,
when fifteen was half done.
You'd told yourself she was just a friend.
But you knew your orbit, and she was your sun.
You wanted nothing more than to hold her hand,
and kiss her saltwater streaked lips,
and lay with her in the sand.
You were her moon, and soon you eclipsed.
I looked down on you at the homecoming dance,
when you had grown into seventeen.
The sunbeam from two years ago never shot you a glance.
It hurt even more when she was crowned queen.
But more than ever, you felt hatred towards him.
How his hands snaked up her dress and caressed her thigh
How their bodies writhed in rhythm amid the chaos of the gym.
A lump expanding in your throat made you feel like you'd cry.
I looked down on you on your first day of college,
when you had just stepped into eighteen.
The existence of others like you had entered your knowledge.
Clad in flannel, combat boots, and jeans;
She stepped into your world as quickly as Sunbeam had set.
Always carrying her head high, despite shouts of "DYKE!!"
Her calloused hands and kind words helped you forget
About how Sunbeam's Love had just been Like.
I still look down on you today,
and it's hard to believe you're twenty-three.
From day one, I knew you'd end up okay.
But it's nice to just check in and see.
Your girl of five years, I call her Windchill
because of how she took your world by storm.
She recognized the hole in your heart that she had to fill,
and brought with her the destruction of societal norm.
Despite the heartbreak of the past,
the pain of being forced into a mold,
feeling like every day was your last,
everything leads to you being bold.
In times of hardship, I want queer girls to recall
that there is a godmother to cushion your fall.
She embodies your fearless desire,
urging you to never extinguish your purpose's fire.
One day, you will look down on who you once were,
and wonder how her awakening will occur.
