These are my daughters of a broken heart.

These are my daughters of a broken heart.


Young girls, begging to play- with the toy truck, the toy policeman, the blue toy, but she was handed a doll with one color hair that is not hers and three colors of clothes she does not wear and absolutely no blue toys because she’s not a boy.


I was a blue girl in a pink room once. I know what these young girls are thinking.


Middle school girls, hearing about their bodies and being told it is normal, it happens to every woman, but their mom never talked about it and as they leave the room with their “goodie bag” the boys laugh, and they feel they must hide the contents close to their budding chest because pads and chocolates are suddenly oozing shame.


I was ashamed once. I know what these middle schoolers are thinking.


Young women, sitting in a classroom afraid and disgusted by the same man and the same disgusting things, saying the same creepy, pretty lies for years and years to come with no consequences and no regret, even after tears.


I was that age once. I know what these young women are thinking.


Women, battered and shattered by a man who hurt others, and still thinks women are okay with it, he was okay with it, if shattering hurt them someone would say it’s not okay, but he is forced to be far away from many women.


I was bruised once. I know what these women are thinking.


Mothers, trying to explain to this young beauty how to be safe- how to walk safely and talk safely and breathe safely and be safely- but the girl is not understanding and, secretly, is never safe.


I was desperate and confused once. I know what these mothers and daughters are thinking.


Females, asking to stand tall, and instead stretched, prodded, forced into a mold, wondering why they are not accepted and begging to be understood, or valued, or something, but somehow they are a threat because they do not fit into the box every woman should, somehow their identity as a female is a source of shame.


Can’t you understand what we are thinking?


These are my daughters of a broken heart.


Someone else saw this once. They know what we are thinking.


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