a letter to the child inside

Oh girl.
Oh girl, you’ll make it to thirty.
You won’t die at sixteen the way you were convinced
that time
You won’t be interesting enough to die young
but you’ll be interesting enough.

Oh girl. There will come a night when you
won’t know where the nightclubs are
and won’t mind
Won’t know where the next drink is coming from
and won’t miss it
You’ll order a bottle of the house wine
and share it over dinner, and you’ll have
a conversation good enough that you’ll be happy to remember
all of it
And you’ll wander home on polished streets, deftly
negotiating history as though you had been there
and you will be in awe of your life.

Oh girl. The voice
never goes away but you’ll become
less inclined to listen to it, and even when
the panic closes your throat you’ll look around
at friends who put themselves through body scanners to be with you
Who are willing to cut you slices of their joy
and you will start to listen when you murmur to yourself,
you are loved, and
you deserve it.

Oh girl. You won’t ever find the end of the string that
tangles itself around your mind and heart but you will get so much better at
cutting through a window
where you need it, and there will be moments
, some of them piled in one after the other,
where your veins will run with molten joy, and you will look back
on every step you took to be in this place and you will
love every one.

Oh girl. He won’t ever come back and you won’t ever
quite heal over but you’ll run your fingers over the scar and marvel at its
softness, and you will be reminded of your
great capacity to patch up and
carry on. You’ll give up trying to grow new limbs but you will learn to do
so much
without them, and a lot of it
beautifully.

Oh girl. You’ll still lie on the floor sometimes and
sob, but oh,
what floors they’ll be
and every
damn
time
you’ll get up a little wiser

And,
oh girl. You’ll sit on a balcony that you paid for
all by yourself and you’ll gaze onto a
new sea
And you’ll write words you’ll still like
in a year’s time
And you’ll look back to see how far you’ve come and suddenly
you’ll realise
the reason you can’t quite see where the ocean
meets the sky is because
there is no edge
unless you put it there

And though you know there are monsters waiting,
oh girl,
you’ll still dive in

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2 thoughts on “a letter to the child inside

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