In my stories, the girls I write about
don't win in life, they are shunned, feared
and hated, they live in the margins
they are the witches parents warn about
In my stories, these girls live a life
I don't have the courage to claim
They talk back, they scream, they shout
They hurl things at people who
are always telling them they are wrong
They laugh recklessly and often
They drink and smoke in the backyard
They let their garden grow wild
In my stories, I give them a house
If I feel generous, a trip to the beach
Where they can run wild
and sleep on the sandy shores
But I don't let them win at life,
Sometimes they miss their family
who have disinherited them,
At times they wish they had a shoulder to cry on
Sometimes they think of ending their lives
A few times, they do.
In my stories, my girls live a
life of protest, and isn't that something too?
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