don’t write odes to the girl you refuse to be. you will live your life running backwards, pinning the rough edges of your shadow with rusty nails so that it doesn’t take her shape.
write a sonnet to the girl you will be. speak her into existence and spread your arms wide, catch the wind of the future in your sails and fly until she is in formation behind you.
i have known too many women who have spent their lives filling pages with the ghost of the girl they are trying to escape. with every word her outline grows clearer. fiction can not hide you from her–not for long. she creeps.
the girl–no, the woman you will be is a song. she does not exist in pinned shadow or barriers of ink. she is in the air already, breathless and waiting. you need only give her the words.