a prayer for sad girls

i wish i had told her how nice

she looked in mustard yellow,

her turquoise ring and her golden hair bright

in the gray afternoon glow.

i wish i had reminded her she was light,

the fire and the bulb,

it emanated from her, because of her, was her.

i wish i could’ve whispered don’t worry so much,

someday you’ll take pictures in a house all your own

with exposed brick and a dedicated tea cabinet and

eighteen plants each with their own name

and unique temperament.

you’ll know them all, i’d share quietly, tenderly,

your capacity for care continues to be limitless.

i wish she could see me now, or maybe i don’t—

she’d be the only one who could see through the

tortoiseshell glasses to the hollow underneath,

cenotes of submerged teal and abandoned altars to

gods long forgotten, sunken ships and pillaged treasure.

she doesn’t know she’s beautiful,

even as she’s told now is the most beautiful

she might ever be.

i’m grateful her mom always told her

it’s better to be smart than pretty and

kindness is a blanket that will

always keep you warm.

i want to tell her how proud i am

of the her that’s still here,

the girl who knows survival is a choice,

just like joy—

she who wanted to leave but stayed instead

to see the apple tree in her backyard

blush into spring for the first time,

who breaks her heart with books and paintings and

empathy too big for this world,

cracking open like a clementine,

who fights and loves with equal fervor,

who fights to love herself enough to continue,

to stay.

i wrap my arms around her chest,

around mine

as i make a promise i’m not sure i can keep,

to have and to hold,

to take good care of the girl

in that crumpled photograph:

thank you for not. thank you for.

thank you.