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i was raised a girl by well-meaning generations and wounded dreamers. i was raised a girl by inevitable justifications and greedy schemers. i was raised a girl always too good a student for my own good— so i smile in the face of anger remain patient as if my life depended on it; so i listen to all sides and hide my unease when none listen to me; so i give because i have so much and never ask because i need nothing more. if i want more i couldn't say, so instead of demanding change i find it's easier to leave, leaving wounds that harden into ever thickening skin. i was raised a girl: my girl skin now so thick i can postpone feeling anything. now, i’m no girl. all of this is just an ingrained, stubborn stain that may fade but never go away, like a bloody heart on my sleeve. no, i'm no girl, but somewhere deep within me is a cell with a child inside who, when I open her cage, looks up at me and smiles bravely; yet somehow I know that when I close that door again she’ll