she remembered the map tucked
between her palms and the
thumbtacks pressed against
her fingertips with the words her
mother said to her ringing
through her head,
"the world is yours, my child.
the battlefield belongs to you.
the edges of the cliff are carved just
for you because you're the girl
who has the moon bleeding in
her fist and the stars braided
in her hair; you're nothing
less than a galaxy."
YOU ARE READING
girls. girls.
PoetryIt's a shame how they're considered muses and at the same time their blood taints the canvas. (#57 in poetry on 18/08/2016) All rights reserved. © DirectionerRia17
