the birth of she

the world celebrates the day you were born

but i will celebrate each day you live

and each day you choose to love yourself

and every time you clear the clutter off your desk

while the clothes are still piled up in your chair

the dust bunnies on your dresser hopping to your floor

and the plate under your bed, two months old

i will celebrate each time you wake up before your alarm

especially when you fell asleep two hours before

and every time you step on the pen you refuse to pick up

and each day you decide to do your hair and pluck your brows

after dragging yourself out of your cold room

the world tells you to sit up straight and speak when spoken to

and i know they think it will keep you grounded

and each day you try your best to edify and love

and sometimes your words do not reflect those things

and she, they dont have to

because you are human and flawed and beautiful

and a mess and put together, an enigma

but i will celebrate you

i will celebrate all of you

happy rebirth, she, and happy life to you

because the world only takes one day to celebrate you

but i will take every day

every hour

and every second

to remind you that you are unapologetic

and you dont have to explain that

to anyone.

 

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