Girlhood is a room with no lock
where the windows are always open.
It smells like rain caught in hair,
like notebooks filled with hearts that never finish closing.
It is learning the shape of your name
by writing it on fogged glass,
watching it disappear, writing it again.
In girlhood, time is elastic.
An afternoon can hold a lifetime.
A glance can feel like a prophecy.
You believe the moon is listening,
and sometimes, it is.
Girlhood is the art of becoming.
It is singing to yourself while washing your hands,
trusting secrets to friends who swear on their lives,
collecting small miracles:
a dress that makes you feel seen,
a sentence in a book that feels like it was written for you.
There is a quiet magic in not knowing yet,
not knowing how the world will harden,
not knowing how often you will be asked to shrink.
Your heart beats wildly then,
untrained, unguarded,
believing it can love without consequence.
Even now, she lives somewhere inside the ribs,
that girl who thought tenderness was a form of power.
She still leans toward wonder.
She still believes softness can survive.
And sometimes,
when you are very still,
you can feel her breathing,
STILL BREATHING!
-Tahera K.
Guest Writer
Girl Museum