We were eighteen and fearless.
We were dancing in clubs until the morning hours, our parents all thinking we were at home in bed.
We flirted with boys and made them cry, because we could.
We showed up late and stoned, laughing our asses off at jokes you’ll never know.
We drove to Chicago late one February night, just because someone wanted a milkshake.
We cried hard when our hearts were broken, like there would never be another to fill the void.
The next day our makeup would look sharp as a knife.
That night our lips would meet someone glittering with new opportunities.
We were young, lighting fires wherever we went.
We were just girls, drunk on the idea of perfection that society gave us.
We were golden.
We were broken.
We were infinite.
I wasn’t enough, so I became what you always wanted to be.
There is history in my complexion and the hairs on my head and the hairs on my body. Before me, to me, and I will make history. I am brown and I am woman and I am beautiful. I wear my wild hair like a crown.