A Letter To My Unborn Daughter
I know what they have tried to teach you.
They have told you that you will not succeed. That being different is a crime punishable by social suicide, because if you do not squish your mind into their small box locked with metal chains and sealed tight with the label NORMAL that you will never survive this world. That when you stand up for the kid being called weird you will be whipped with the crop that is their words, but if you don't then you will be put in the corner of a room with an anti bullying sticker on the door. They will tell you to do what you love and be proud of it, but when you get the lead in the play you will be handcuffed by the word "drama geek". They will encourage you to dress how you want, but when you wear your favorite dress you will feel their ignorance branding the word slut up and down your bare legs because you are distracting our men. But, daughter, when they try to fold your body like a contortionist down into the small box labeled normal, when they lock the chains, each link composed of their utopian society's principles... daughter, I will hand you the key. And when you open the box, watch their eyes as their shackles explode into wildflowers as a garden grows at their feet. Let me water your garden, let me tend to your flowers, and when you tell me that you don't want to be here anymore let me show you my garden, half barren, half broken. I will show you that life is a struggle but that I will never let them pave over your wildflowers.