girls who run with the wolves aren’t here for boys to love.

you walk in moon dust

and stars are sprinkled in your hair;

you wear strength and darkness equally well,

women like you drown oceans.

you have always been half goddess, half hell.

when the sun sets and the wolves run,

your heart belongs to every star,

and you will never need a king to be a queen.

a queen will always turn pain into power.

you walk on fires others are scared to put out,

because you wear it for skin with a storm in your soul.

sometimes the princess and the witch are one,

and red riding hood will eat the wolf.

don’t let them forget

that the most powerful hurricanes begin when the wind disguises itself

as the tiniest breeze and the briefest hint of sea.

there is lightning in your soul,

you were made of miracles,

and you can run all you want,

but in the light of the moon

the wolves will always call you back.

[this is a found poem i put together with five or six Pinterest posts i came across; most of the lines are from the poem that inspired this one, by Lydia Maartin, and the rest are from Nikita Gill, Rupi Kaur, Zachry K. Douglas, and a few unknown sources. i didn't write any of this, just got inspired by other incredible writers and combined their works!]

she doesn’t know the world at all.

she is too young

to die an adult’s death,

and too old

to live a child’s life.

is an army

to protect

or to kill?

is it to protect her

from the world,

or to kill the world,

all for her?

it is deadly and lovely, and it’s

in the air she breathes and

in the water she drinks and

there is no escaping the weight of

their words

this world

the future.

When she grows up, all she wants is to be free:

The way a breeze through her hair in spring can become a killer in a storm a day later.

A change of course driven purely by simple will.

That’s exactly what she wants to be.

The way a breeze through her hair in spring can become a killer in a storm a day later:

She finds it beautiful.

That’s exactly what she wants to be.

Free and beautiful.

She finds it beautiful:

The thought of a life of security and calm stability… but somehow lacking.

Free and beautiful.

That’s it; it’s hard to be as free or beautiful.

The thought of a life of security and calm stability… but somehow lacking:

Lacking, yes, but it appeals to her; perhaps she’s been too out of control this whole time.

That’s it; it’s hard to be as free or beautiful,

But solidity is key as well.

Lacking, yes, but it appeals to her; perhaps she’s been too out of control this whole time:

That’s what she says to herself. (to convince herself?)

But solidarity is key as well.

So what does she really want?

That’s what she says to herself (to convince herself?):

Solidarity is key, and freedom is the lock to beauty.

So what does she really want?

She’s not sure anymore.