Warning: f-bombs ahead!
She is not a sparkly treasure.
She is not a pretty pet, a perfect keepsake, a tidy little trinket.
She can’t fit in your pocket.
And her wings are way too big to stroke your delicate ego.
Feathers will get stuck in your mouth, spiked with lotus blossoms and patchouli, dare you try to silence her.
She’s got opinions for miles.
And fuck—she’ll let you know it when you’re wrong.
She’s lightning’s girl.
And lighting can’t live in a quiet cage, that’s for damn sure!
She meditates in the morning and chants by moonlight, uttering syllables so beautiful, they sound made-up, like smoky quartz swirls of strawberry-scented stardust.
She’s real as fuck and magical as the milky way.
If you can’t handle her rawness, her wildly tender heart, her frighteningly accurate wise-as-hell intuition—let her go.
She ain’t for you unless you like rollercoasters and tornadoes.
‘Cause she’s both. And damn proud of it.
She’s not about to play small so you can feel big.
She’s not about to forsake her soul to pad your insecurities and pat you lightly on the head.
She knows that magic courses through her veins.
She believes in the gritty, real beauty of her soul.
She bows down at the ankles of her flowering strength.
She loves being a woman—’cause she knows that most of the time, it means being a warrior.
And she doesn’t doubt her mission for a moment, so get used to it.
She knows she’s here for more than giggling laughs and pretty pink sugar-rimmed drinks.
She is here to pry open the world’s cracked, bleeding heart.
She is here to speak the bitter, beautiful truth and hold the raucous cries of her ancestors, soft in her belly.
She is here to be love.
No, not cheap, bullshit, Hallmark love—real, sweaty, gritty, soul-igniting, dream-chasing love that soothes broken spirits.
She is here to sprout wings that sparkle in sunlight and glimmer in the darkest shades of moonlight—and help others do the same.
Don’t ever try to clip her wings.
Don’t ever call her weak.
She might be weird.
She might be a messy ball of electric chaos.
But her open heart is fucking breathtaking.
Her wild soul is juicy, tasty as a ripe, dripping pomegranate.
She is nothing you expected—but everything you needed,
A shock to your system, a wake-up call to jolt your soul.
The surprise you never saw coming,
She will love you, just as you are.
Let her challenge the shit out of you.
‘Cause she will.
Love her wildly, torridly, freely,
She ain’t got time for anything else.
Author: Sarah Harvey
Editor: Catherine Monkman