to you, the one reading this.

i am writing this because i am livid. i am writing this because i cannot say these words eloquently. i am writing this so you can read it as a request, plea, reminder, prayer: whichever will change your mind.

i hope you bless the daughters who slave away day to day, backs bent with the burden of souls. their blood-stained cuticles are a twin to their bloodshot eyes. they’re the daughters who live carrying the burden of all the daughters before them: the ones who live because they no longer recognize the life before and because they can no longer afford dignity.

bless also the daughters who love with the youth of honeysuckle blossoms in spring, with the strength of the moon moving the sea. the ones you pass off as dreamers, as the naive maidens for your fairytale knights to save. 

bless the daughters who soothe their young at night: they are the only ones to calm the cries. they are the ones who look at their child and see remnants of a face too familiar to bear. i can almost see the shadows of their eyes under the solemn glow of a lamp.

bless the daughters who are revolutionaries. the ones who wait under a candle flame blanket for news. their futures sleep in the silent light of our televisions—another city bombed, another family dies. they die as martyrs because humanity chose the gun over the olive branch. 

bless the daughters who live, who give life, who give up their lives, the ones who rise like air, the ones whose voices ring in an echo chamber. tired. i am tired, and they are tired. i want to reach across continents, across space and across time. i want to hold each of their hands and tell them it will be alright, that one day the sun will kiss their faces again. i’m sorry the world is so cruel.

you. as you stumble across this piece of writing, i want to tell you:

bless the daughters because they are the ones who bless you.