Eleven

a little word vomit

A girl I know, she was eleven, and her mouth
was guarded like a palace.
Control over what went in was left to an isolating awareness of her body,
and control over what went out was left to a sharp and painful fear of being judged
for being alive.
That girl is older now and the castle was conquered in a raid by feminist authors.
She no longer fears calories or conversation.

Author's Note

Just some little thoughts about a girl I love.