abort, my sister — Ankita Kumar

it is girlhood 
to grab the burning hands of one I love dearly 
to listen to her—really listen with an open soul
she tells me of dragon-esque people,
who spew both love and lies,
a raging blaze; her tears are mine, 
shards of heart pressing into my palms.

crimson stained leather car seats
wistful wind lapping our hair until we’re a tangle
of brunette and jet-black. 

fighters, but lovers to anyone who truly knows us—
we are strength,
but isn’t it a privilege to be weak?
to fall apart and not feel the need to pick up your own pieces,
to embrace problems without finding solutions, 
to let the dam crumble

for we heal far better, together,
in the comfort of the other 
the scariest monsters reveal themselves when we let out a rallying cry—
a piercing laugh, an earth-shattering scream
we charge forward, unstoppable, 
ready to conquer.

it is who we are, girls
always asking for it, always needing 
more than we are given

see me as the threat I am.
your god did not plan for our resilience 
polishing since we could comprehend, 
our swords will never rust.

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Ankita Kumar is a driven high school junior with a strong passion for civic engagement. She loves reading anything and everything, meeting new people, and getting an uncomfortable number of body piercings. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and the Live Poets Society of NJ. In a few months, she plans to escape the Midwest to somewhere (anywhere) warmer.