The girl of thirteen

is not the boy of thirteen.

She has died drowning in nightmares

until she forgot her butterflies.

She has passed through caverns of darkness

leaving the lullabies behind.

The girl of thirteen is forty-three.

She knows a bad touch from a good one

She knows it’s not wrong

to tell a lie in order to survive.

She knows how to fight a war,

with teeth or with songs.

You see only the rose on her body;

but it’s full of thorns

The girl of thirteen can fly.

She doesn’t want to leave the sun

and books just for men.

Her swing circles the moon

and moves from melancholy to madness.

She doesn’t dream of the prince

The girl of thirteen has her feet

in the netherworld even as she

touches the rainbow.

One day, sword in her hand, she

will come riding a white horse.

Listening to the hooves echo in the clouds

you will know , the tenth avatar

the puranas prophecy is.

a woman

as you seem to think.