No longer the girl of battlefield wrists or August-wet eyes,no longer the girl weighing worth in tilting scales, but still too much fire, still too much smother, still so much child and too much woman..

Still the girl brimming with memory of a starlit sky on the odd clear night,still the girl with shades of sunshine trapped in the shadows of her skin.Her relatives say rose water and sandalwood paste will cure her of it.

Still the clumsy girl,knocking over the real with a nudge of her elbows,twisting a truth or two tripping on the worldliest of woes.

Still the girl who collects sea salt in the strands of her hair and stores happinesses on the lining of her lips.

Still the girl inhaling too much world at one breath,struggling to breathe out multiverses in the next.

Still the girl of tired tongue and impatient fingers,still the girl coating rust in red lipstick and dressing the bloom in pink.

Still the girl cradling ache in her collarbones and trying to keep the shame from spilling out of her clothes.

Still the girl she was,still a prisonhouse of girls hammering against her ribcage in search of escape.

Still virginal, still tainted, still at peace, still a warehouse of turbulence.

Still girl .Still child. Still woman. Still simmering with inadequacy. Still enough.


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