Bring me the girls still rough around the edges,
who never knew the word ‘pretty’—
girls with teeth for tearing.
Bring me the bruised knuckle girls,
the heavy-hearted girls,
the girls who got locked up in towers
and found a way out.
Bring me the girls
who kept the roses with the weeds,
the callous and the thorns.
Bring me the girls
with exoskeletons of iron,
hands worked to the bone.
You were not beautiful enough for them,
but you are beautiful.
You are viscous and hungry,
tall and terrible,
You are more than they made of you.
You are hurting.
But you are powerful.
Words for the Year 