9.1 Editor's Pick
August 20, 2018

For all the Little Girls with Untamed Hearts & Wild Spirits.

My tenderhearted sisters, listen up.

Never forget your cackling bones were born to run through oceans of wildflowers.

Always beware of the big bad wolf,

lurking in shadows,

waiting,

to lock cage doors around your voracious feelings.

Not everyone will like you, and a lot of people will slander your rebel rantings.

Always listen with your sixth sense.

Beat the internal rhythm on your own drum, with conviction, no apologies, humor, and grace.

You are a wild one.

Do not let the world tame you—I promise they will persistently pursue your domestication.

Your very inhale and exhale, threatens to topple the dominant order, and that’s why we must roar.

Do not be afraid.

Fear will be your best friend, gut checking your courage every day.

Leap into the ring with your cat-like eyes.

Hand wrap your knuckles, put your favorite gloves on, and give war a wink.

Pray to lose a lot.

Because bravery is conceived in the bloody, third-round defeats.

Angsty heart destructions that feel like an alien may pop out of your chest.

Accept the “I can only crawl” sunrises, and forever roll scrappy out of messy sheets.

My lionhearted little girls,

“Dark nights” are just colorful threads.

Sometimes anguish will cement you into a statue; you’ll see mirror reflections you do not understand,

Symbols your clever brain cannot decode—

Always look up.

The sign posts are heckling on every street corner, from a crazy homeless grin.

They will surely call you insane.

Desperately trying to bottle your “Witch Potions” with scarlet letters and handmaid tales of who you are “supposed to be.”

A good girl…duh?

And don’t say “duh,” you are smarter than that.

Use your words, like swords, cutting through bullsh*t,

barefoot, splashing through humanity puddles.

Own your voice, my fierce one—

The spin around the blazing sun is fraught with choices, too complex for good and bad.

Expect to get confused,

like drunk love waking up on a couch, pants off, not knowing where your coffee is coming from.

When you hear the grass rattle from the subtle snakes, too savvy for the daylight mind,

haunting tongues touching your skin, intuiting your apple core has been bit—

Call on forgiveness.

Rally your sisters, who are schooled in the sharp blades of razors.

Let the Garden of Eve, Womb of Mary, Ashes of Phoenix, be your torch as you blaze ferociously into uncharted territory.

We beg you, young ones,

Look out the sunny windows, even when you feel trapped.

Witness the green leaves blowing in the summer wind—

then fall, like orange memories, to a ground that’s brown and always dies.

Be reborn. Every day.

In a butterfly,

A rose that blooms again,

A candle that hasn’t been lit in awhile, but still has a wick that burns,

A wolf that will sink the hungry teeth of protection into danger,

and a lamb that will unselfconsciously cry for revolutionary love.

~

author: Angela Meyer

Image: Flickr/诗琪

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

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Angela Meyer

Angela Meyer is a Washington, D.C. based writer, seasoned teacher of yoga, black belt in self-defense, and a competitive martial artist. In addition to movement arts, Angela works at an AIDS hospice, is an end-of-life care counselor, Buddhist chaplain, and founder of Warrior Woman Republic LLC. She has a deep passion for justice and loves good beer. Follow her on Instagram.