Your Anger shows that you are alive enough to burn for something. Let it be you. Let it be something much bigger than you alone.

To all the girls (and anyone who resonates) who wore chaos as a blanket, in the coldest of times because the people who were supposed to protect you were too busy breaking down the house walls.

Thank you for not silencing your pain so they can feel better about themselves.
Thank you for not looking at every twisted knot in their rotting fabric of reality as something for you to fix.

Thank you for finally realising that its neither your fault, nor a responsibility to bleed your heart just so they can pride themselves on a thorn garden.

It takes a lot of narcissism to hate yourself.
Internalised shame that was never your reflection.
Internalised guilt which was never weight to carry.

The voice that is asking you to dim your light, to question your worth, to not be too bold, too alive, too real.

The constant need to be polite, to look at yourself as a bother and not a person who is allowed to have needs or dreams.

That is not your voice.
It never was.

Listen again, calmly, welcoming it to its own doom.

Feminine rage is not medieval Hysteria.
Its pure reckoning.

Its thunder and earthquakes.
A dance of fascinating and almost breathtaking destruction of everything she is not.

SO BE ANGRY DARLING.

Not at yourself. Not at the naive little one who did not know better.
To burn the stories and voices and worries.
Be Angry. Really Angry.


And when you have burned all your doubts, fears, insecurities and hurt.
Sit on those ashes.
Rest a little in the warmth you always needed.
Let it all go.

Every version of you that needed more and never stopped.
Hold her close. So she can find her spark too.
Watch her watery eyes flutter as the smile outshines the sun.