You never thought you’d make it out of high school,
but here you are, alive, two years later,
with expired milk and ticket stubs scattered around the ruins
of your own apartment, a package of condoms tucked into
the side drawer “just in case.”
And there are going to be some days when you feel like
breaking every dish in the cupboard, or smashing the mirror to pieces,
but honey, everybody has days like those, and that doesn’t mean
you’re a paper doll, something flimsy and tearable
and too easily thrown away.
I know Marissa has prettier hair than you, and Sierra is skinnier,
but no one’s got a heart like yours.
You could rip a man’s soul in half with a heart like that.
You’re gonna want to eat him whole.
But honey, always remember that werewolves only come out
at night when there’s a full moon,
and full moons are rare. There will be a night or two,
or maybe three or four, or even more than ten,
when the one candle you light in the house
isn’t going to be enough to drown out your dark.
But someday someone will hold your dark in their palms
like the bones of a bird, and they won’t be scared
one bit of what you’ll do with it.
I know Anne Frank died too young, and Neil Armstrong
didn’t mention women when he landed on the moon,
but your body’s a gasoline spill on the pavement
and your hands are stronger than sledgehammers;
you can do so much
with a voice like that.