Reflections of my womanhood rolled over me each with its own expectations like all the times I stared in the mirror as a kid wishing I was pretty like Ava. Or like, just not “fat and ugly” like me. I closed my eyes and imagined myself on my knees offering myself to the glory of womanhood. I broke off the pieces of me that were brittle from getting hollered at and also threatened on the block. Shook forth the doubt that came from lungs afraid of change and brick-ass NYC winters. Offered all of it to the glory and asked for clay to rebuild.
