You will not waste me. You will not fold me, hide me in your back pocket. You will not lose me in the bottom of your laundry basket. You will not fade my design, dim my bright, turn my shine into your shadow. You will not excuse me. You will not draw my figure. You will not figure me out. You will not wrap me in your self-made cellophane ego. You will not suffocate me. I will see through you. You will not confuse me for your pet. You will not pet me like your dog. You will not dog my like we’re boys. You will not be boy at your age.

You will not drown me in the tide of your temper. You will not out-clap my thunder. You are not lightening. You will not strike me. You are not likely to outright swipe me. You will not crack my stone stair. You will not break my glass parts. You will not carve my callouses smooth or hack my smoothness coarse. You will not crash into my drive. You will not ride my success without my permission. I will not be written off as too angry, too feminist, too victim. You will not drown the light that brought your sinking ship to shore. I stand too tall.

You will not swim through me. You will not swallow my wide. You will not wade my coast with dirty feet. You will not pollute me. You will not use me as your clean slate to stain me with your repeated mistakes. You will not mistake my kindness as being blinded—I will see through you.

You will not deflate me with your bloated sense of self. You will not drain my flame to flicker. You will not dilute my message. I will not water this down.

You will not treat me like the boy inside you—abuse me like I did what’s been done to you or what he did to your mother or what she did to your self-esteem, or whatever excuse you use to use me. You will love me, with every ounce of your weight or you will leave me with my queendom in full bloom.

And whether you wither or grow in your own time, you will not waste me.

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