Nikita Gill

Tell them how beautiful they are no matter what anyone else says.

Pitting me against them
in this insidious rivalry
that girls are taught and grow into
for a man or boy’s affections
is not something for me to be grateful for.

You will see it when you stand up for yourself
and you are told how arrogant you are amongst your sex
because ‘it isn’t ladylike to raise your voice.’

They say that numbers count. The only time that numbers count is how many times you get up again after you have fallen and failed.

I am an open book of the messes I have made and completely, utterly selfish about you.

I read something in the paper and it made me think about you. This is what it said: Our lungs contain 300,000 million capillaries. And this is why I thought of you.

Everyone deals with unimaginable pain in their own way, and everyone is entitled to that, without judgement.

To the girl looking at her reflection with an unhappy frown. Please stop doing that. You know exactly what I am talking about.

You do not need to change yourself,
for boys who fell in love with
a beautiful, wild thing
that they are too ill equipped
and must cage to ‘handle’.

This is how you will hurt.

To me, you are the beach where I found my freedom. To me, you are the electricity I felt in that moment. To me, you are the elation one feels where their entire world, their life, their whole being changes for the better.

It takes fourteen minutes and twelve seconds to walk to your home from mine every day. Your mother never fails to smile at me when she opens the door.