Baby Girl by Samantha

If I ever have a baby girl:

I’m going to rub her palms into the soil of this earth that surrounds her stunning being,

Lift her arms up to the sky and whisper in her soft, unspoiled ear, repeat:

Thank you for setting me free.

I will let her experiment with the rich pigments slowly fading into her pearly fingertips. She will feel the full grime and filth of the planet, but know her roots at her birth. I will guide her through the unknown smell of the earth, crumbles of the dirt, and teach her to feel matter with a newfound sensitivity.

Experiences are cleansed by soil; she will learn what it means to be truly natural – learn that features are lit by sunlight but still lit within the body, warmed by the blood of passion. Your strength is the most flattering shade of rouge.

She will learn that to be coated in earth means you are closest to the ground. She’ll be level; untarnished by common, unattainable cloud.

She will learn that eyes sparkle most when moistened by tears. Sometimes this river water spills out uncontrollably, other times it remains locked on lashes, hesitant.

Even still, beauty is obtained when a release is made.

If I ever have a baby girl:

I’m going to tell her that she was built to carry burden.

If your burden weighs more than hers, you were created to be stronger. Your arms can gather more of the world’s hatred and remorse, to throw into the dirt you once explored, for new humans to taste, touch, and understand.

If I ever have a baby girl:

I will let her cry. I will pry away the thoughts of perfection and kiss her cheeks. I will tell her imperfection is what she must strive for. The truth is more attractive than a lie.

If I ever have a baby girl:

I will hold her hand after she has let mine go. I will tether her to the life she has spent years forming for herself.

If I ever have a baby girl:

I will explain that her wrist’s canvas is a finished painting – a work of art colored by blue veins, well-placed freckles, and speckled hairs. The brush is God’s fingers slowly sliding blue strings of life across her body. By spilling red paint on this work of art, she will not gain the aesthetic her mind yearns for. Discoloration means calamity, baby, not release, I will murmur to her wrist.

If I ever have a baby girl:

I will tell her that the pavement was laid for her to explore on: a street turned red carpet, it is the path to her discovery. I will tell her not to overlook the uneven cracks in the sidewalk, to stare them in the face as she steps on every single one, and realize that she will not fall through no matter how many times her feet land on the ground’s manmade errors.

If I ever have a baby girl:

She will throw her head back and scream to her maker. Cry, “why?” sob, “why?” And she will hear no answer to His unwritten consolation. Hence, she will learn patience. She will learn that not everything has a discoverable answer, no matter how many cracks in the street you study. But some slits in the earth are parallel, and life can make sense when you make sense of it yourself.

If I ever have a baby girl:

I don’t doubt she’ll fall in love with someone. But when that happens, I will tell her, don’t let anyone love you more than you love yourself. I will hand her a manual of instructions: thousands of lines detailing what she needs to remember – curiosity, levelness, the earth she walks on, and the stars she screams at. I will tell her that another human will not simply love her; instead, they will remind her of who she is, and she will have to love herself.


Posted on January 27, 2014, in Student Writing. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. This is amazing. BEAUTIFUL. AMAZING.

  2. Thanks so much, Aviline! 😀

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