My girl is a storm cloud. Heavy with the weight of all that she carries she is trembling but still she marches. Forward. She teaches me the meaning of perseverance. She teaches me that taking that quivering lead shell of anxiety around love and opening it to her is not weakness. It is trust and trust is a sword.
My girl is a serpent. She sees that I believe that I am snakelike- un-lovable, deceitful, un-caring. She laughs and tells me to suck my venom dry from the throats of young boys and aim to strike something bigger than them, bigger than her. She is well versed in the fight, her coils are scarred with losses and lessons.
My girl is 7 in the morning. She is the dizziness from getting out of bed too fast. She is fucking unbearable. She is also the pill that you need to swallow to make it through the day; she is also the shock of pink dawn; she is also the yellow door-frame halfway through the commute. You’ve never seen it before but you’d never miss it now.