These Are the Words: Fearless verse to find your voice

by Nikita Gill

CLAY The women in your family made goddesses. They would take the clay and mould it between gentle fingers until the stubbornness gave way. The body came first, shaped by tender touch; your grandmother always prayed while she worked. A wise old face, mapped by lines, lips moving in prayer. Maybe that’s where you get it from. The hymn placed at the nape of your neck. The temple that lives in your eyes. The sacred that leads your voice. Your grandmother always said, ‘From your lips to God’s ears.’ She believed He was always listening, which is why when she walked into a room she brought a gentle peace with her. Whoever crafted her must have had the holiest of hands.

Mother I am trying to find my way back to. Mother who gave me the seasons. Mother I do not share language with any more.

The soft beating still in rhythm with yours that says, ‘be/safe, be/safe, be/safe’.

The brief whiff of a perfume you haven’t smelled since they died.

Finally mastering a recipe that every woman in your family has passed down for generations.

‘YOU’RE NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS’ It’s not a compliment when you realize how much like other girls you are. How we all carry the same fears of alleyways and locker rooms and rumours gone astray. How we all know to check on our friends and make sure they get home. How we all see implicitly there are places we cannot go alone. How we all recognize the goddess in one another, the divine knowledge that we need each other. How we wrap our arms around each other when no one else will because we know what hurts. How at the end we recognize exactly what you’re trying to do when you say, ‘You’re not like other girls,’ when the truth is we are. We are exactly like each other. It’s why we need this sisterhood, because each other is who we are fighting for.

That the truth within you is not a wound.

The truth is we expect the survivor to know better, but we don’t demand the same of the abuser.

And what kind of world do we live in where we are taught to expect harm and also take the blame for it?

‘You are so much more than pretty. The stars that gave you to us made you to be like the sun. You are their best ever masterpiece. You aren’t pretty. You are inspiring.’

You’ll know it because this is the first time your eyes don’t seek the safest exit when you enter a room.

A BLESSING FOR THOSE STILL WAITING The ‘long drives under a starry sky’ kind of love. The ‘conversations at dawn and at twilight’ kind of love. The ‘amber rays of the summer sun and picnic baskets’ kind of love. The ‘let me hold your broken heart and show you how beautiful it is’ kind of love. The ‘let me build you rainbows where there are wounds’ kind of love. The ‘let me be your safe place and you be mine’ kind of love. The ‘let’s make each other stronger every day’ kind of love. That kind of love is on its way and it’s coming to you.

May you find someone who makes you a poet. May you find someone who shows you love doesn’t have to hurt when it can heal.

ON SELF-WORTH You are more than what you can do for other people. More than your productivity. More than the joy you give others. More than how many pieces you give away before it feels like you have lost yourself. You are more than the scars and the bruises of your past, but, most of all, you are more than what you tell yourself every night, alone in the dark, wishing and pleading with a universe that you do not think can hear you to be prettier, stronger, brighter, better. The universe already thinks of you as a star. It knows that you are already its wildest dream come true. Just like this. Just as you are.

It doesn’t matter if he looks or doesn’t. You still walk holding the sun between your fingertips, a hurricane stored in a girl’s body, the stars beneath your feet.

One day, I promise her, it will be better than this. It doesn’t have to be, she whispers back. This is enough.

THE LESSON I once loved someone exactly how they wanted. When they stumbled, I put my body between them and the ground. When they were cold, I gave them the clothes from my own back even if I was freezing too. Broke my bones in two to build them bridges. Gave my own freedom up to release them from their cages. I thought if I gave and gave that one day they would turn round and love me back. They smiled as they left, taking all of my love with them, leaving a hole in my chest so large nothing can fill it, saying, ‘Silly girl. That isn’t what love is about.’

‘Thank you for letting us go. I hope you are happy, in love and shining wherever you are.’

SEASONS CHANGE You are an unrepeatable being. and by this I mean a symphony of stars created your bones, you are unforgettable warmth of the last summer’s day, the brave first gold leaf of autumn. Remember that as summer fades into autumn everything is temporary. Even when your heart is broken in summer, eventually autumn will turn into winter and winter will become the second chances of spring.

The universe has filled you with your own purpose; you owe it to yourself to go and find out what it is.

HOW TO BELIEVE IN YOURSELF IN 150 CHARACTERS OR LESS If no one else sees you as sacred, that’s when you build a temple out of yourself, your own hopes. Become your own God if that’s what it takes to follow your dreams.

I remember the day I decided to stop waiting for his love. The day I decided I would be my own father, that I don’t have to go looking for hope in anyone else’s arms, if I know exactly how to grow it myself.

You want her to stop being so good all the time because it’s killing her, but she refuses to see it. So you do the opposite. You take your chances, craft your liberties. You try to take the pressure off her the best you can and it doesn’t always work because she resents you.

REMINDER II You are not too young to have morals and principles that are different from older members of your family. When they say you are ‘too young to understand’ it is a way for them to escape accountability.

It is as if our people have forgotten that our most powerful goddess is midnight-skinned.

When your mother wishes you lighter, ask her why it matters, when you share the same colours as the goddess of destruction and time itself. When the world makes you feel small for the colour of your skin, tell them Kali didn’t need anyone’s approval

when she burned the whole world down, because she couldn’t abide its cruelty, and neither can you.

‘This is my favourite photo of her.’ He says, ‘It’s what I want her to be when she grows up.’ I ask him what he means. He looks up at me and smiles. ‘Happy, of course.

If there was a way to unlearn suffering, then it is this, the fine art of breaking. So let your tears fall free, allow yourself the waves of sadness that you have been keeping at bay for so long. It is not weakness.

Listen, what no one tells you is it is not your job. It is not your job to hold other people’s pain, letting it turn into a black hole in your heart

It’s okay to experience joy even if the world feels like it’s falling apart. It’s okay to experience joy even if the world is ending. It’s okay to allow yourself happiness even when life is hard.

Nothing is expected of you, other than growing in the most sacred of ways.

WHEN THEY SAY YOU SHOULDN’ T TALK ABOUT IT Remember that the only bridges not worth burning are the bridges you feel safe enough to cross because the people on the other side have seen you after the wildfire, after the ashes of who you were, watching the embers of who you are becoming, and continue to love you through it all.

It is about leaving the past buried in the snow or freezing a good memory into a snow globe,

Fic idea 👀