preciousterrestrials

If I could,
I would turn girls into dragons.

Girls whose skin
has been stained by filthy hands,
girls who are forced
to face those familiar hands
day after day,

give them armor.

Girls who are told
that womanhood means duty,
who dig
and sweat
and carry
and labor,
girls who break their backs
on someone else’s burden,

give them spiked spines.

Girls trapped in cycles:
cycles of abuse
addiction
poverty
pain
cycles they can’t even name,
cycling
cycling
down the drain
and thrown out with the bathwater,

give them claws.

Girls
who chomp down on fear
hiding behind their teeth,
who swallow it whole
because it’s the only nourishment they’ll get,

give them razor fangs.

Girls
who thirst for knowledge
in the middle of a drought,
girls whose minds
are considered as real as their suffering,

give them fire
to burst from their mouths
in place of the words that no one hears.

Girls
whose bodies are not their own;
who are meant for decoration
and cannot decorate themselves,
who are meant for pleasure
and cannot pleasure themselves,
who are meant to be examples
and cannot exemplify themselves,

give them wings
to fly far, far away,

taste freedom in the sky,
and see it for what it should be:
a right, not a privilege.

Every girl
who is considered a possession
or a prize
or a plaything,

who lives
confined by people
who call condescension “love”
and manipulation “compromise”
and fear “respect”
and silence “consent,”

give her eyes
that strike terror into the heart
of anyone who would call her weak.

Gift girls with dragonhood
when personhood is a myth.

Dragonhood by Sarah C. (via inclementweatherdelay)