Remember that confident little girl who said she’d be an architect?
She stopped drawing.
She thought one day, “What am I drawing for…
when I can design a new and improved body…
when I can be beautiful.”
“Why waste my time with these lines
when I’m not valued for my talents and intellect?”
“Why be a leader?”
“Why be a dreamer
if my worth is going to be measured by my breast size?”
She crumpled up
like the paper
she threw away
when you told her beauty was in
flawless skin, straight hair
That she was wasting time
in her drawing chair
She tirelessly edited and erased
She picked and fried and waxed
until she was too tired to draw
even if she wanted to anymore
her frail frame
and finally told her, “You’re beautiful!”
The attention she never got
For being strong
For her work
made her high
But the joy was quick
Not sweet, not full
Like when her teacher
hung her drawing and said,
“You can go far with this.”
She carried that joy for days
One day she picked up her pencil
felt like herself again
She drew beauty
Her own design
that when she thought of the most
Her own definition
They were not walking down runways,
They were climbing up a flag poles.
They were not showing their ribs,
They were sharing their wisdom.
They were not competing for a man,
They were running for president.
They were not begging for validation,
They were fighting for justice.
They were holding the hand of a sick loved one.
They were teaching in inner city schools.
They were the ones
Still asking about
Those drawings she used to do
Remember that confident little girl who said she’d be a writer?
She’s writing again.