Girl, There Ain’t a Damn Thing Wrong With You

Girl. Oh, girl. 

Listen to me. Hear my voice ringing true. 

There ain’t a damn thing wrong with you.

Not one thing, so keep it moving. 

Girl, you’re not too fat. No, you’re not. 

You’re not too thick, or too big. You don’t take up too much space.  

And there ain’t a damn thing wrong with your face.

You’re not crazy, either.

It’s okay to be mad. It’s okay to let them know how you feel. 

Girl, how you feel is important. How you feel is a big f*cking deal.

Keep expressing yourself, don’t bury and downplay.

Don’t let your fear of not being “nice” get in the way.

And no, you’re not too thin. You’re not bony, or frail, or light.

Being small in this world ain’t the damn goal, so surrender that fight.

Just give it up now. 

And no, Girl, you ain’t getting any younger. That’s the plain and honest truth.

But you can still do all the things you want to do, if you let go of “required” youth.

Those wrinkles ain’t going anywhere, no matter how much cream you buy.

Because you’re wearing your life, Girl—and your life is not a lie.

Hey now.

Stop saying you’re sorry. Stop keeping your opinion to yourself.

Stop keeping your smart ideas perched upon a dusty shelf.

And for heaven’s sake, stop procrastinating already.

Stop getting into the back seat automatically.

Girl, you belong up front.

Stop all the excuses you tell yourself and others just to get by.

Stop being polite, and start asking why.

Listen. Please listen to me, Girl. 

Maybe you’ve been told you are too strong, too bold.

Maybe you’ve internalized the idea that you must fit a certain mold.

Maybe they think you’re too bossy, too bitchy, too direct, too loud.

Too polite. Too vague. Too forward. Too proud.

Too emotional, too wishy-washy, too nice, too sweet.

Too sexy, too hot, a consumable treat.

Told you’re too much, but then not quite enough.

Maybe you’ve been told to “just smile,” to stop being so tough.

Slut, angel, whore, girl next-door.

Name after name, Girl, and where those come from,

there’s always one more.

But, Girl. Listen to me.

You ain’t nothing without your inner child.

Let her out sometimes, let her lead, and let her run wild.

Do what you want, say what you feel,

Let them simply wonder what’s turning your wheel.

Let them all watch as you conquer your fears,

Let them see you torch your counted, counting years,

Let them scratch their heads, perplexed—but amazed,

at how you grew anyway, despite their name-calling ways.

Because you’ve always been better than that, Girl.

You ain’t perfect, no.

But listen to me.

There ain’t a damn thing wrong with you. 

Not one thing.

So keep it moving.

And, also?

I will refrain from calling you “Girl” from now on.

Because you ain’t that either.