You amaze me.
You’ve constructed a beautifully strong cage. You’ve locked yourself in it with the keys of self-loathing, control and comparison. You’ve even painted the prison bars black yourself.
You, my friend, are talented at keeping a thing caged.
And, yet, sometimes, you dare to venture outside of those prison bars.
You throw caution to the wind of carelessness and dance on the outside of the cage. You laugh like a bride on her wedding day. You create like the sky in the evening hours. You are full.
You, my sweet sister, are free. And you breathe like you’ve never inhaled.
Your day is here. Your hour is arrived. You, sweet you, is her.
You are the girl you’ve always wished to become. You’re the girl at the party who laughs, not because her drink is strong, but because she is adored. You’re the woman who speaks loudly and against the grain, not because she is lovely, but because she must.
You are her. And you love her.
But, every night, you open your cage and decide that safety is the traces of your remembered past. As you cross the threshold of lies, you enter into a cage whose price is the breath of freedom.
You cough and remember the thinness of prison air. You gasp and take in the darkness of your memory. The lightness of the outside dims.
Daughter, won’t you choose the ground you have danced on? Will you tread on freedom?