To All the Pretty Girls in Passenger Seats

a poem for the ones who finally said "fuck yes" to themselves

To all the pretty girls in passenger seats
I hope you see that you are the prize.

That your soft eyes and tender touch
come without a price tag—at least not one they can afford.

The way you dress, the perfume you wear,
you are a dream, come alive.

The world may spit harsh words,
but remember: you are out of this world.

You are a home that survived hurricanes,
rebuilt on bricks of determination and mortar of salty tears.

Your laugh makes them gasp in delight,
a magician entering the room.

Don’t worry what they think.
Everything you are is more than enough,
and sometimes more than they deserve.

Your tenderness is your strength.
Wield your intellect like a sharpened knife.

Try everything. Refine your preferences
so you can bold your no’s,
and make time for your fuck yes.

Heartbreak may be a side effect
of your enthusiasm to love,
but you’ll always find your way back home.

The path may sometimes be lonely,
but seek arms that offer their anchor.
Keep them close. One day, they may need your stories
to guide them back home.

Stop at the vista points on your way to wherever you’re headed.
Reflect on where, and who you are today.

And if ever you realize
the weight of your history has built armor in your chest,
remember to hold all your yesterdays
with an openness that can melt an iceberg.

Your innocence was never weakness,
it’s the light that carries us all.