the tomboy grew up and she never went tame and she never found boys or makeup or nothing – nothing wrong with the girls who did but also it’s not inevitable, this progression
womanhood rejected you, because where are the grownup tomboys? there’s no room for the rough-and-tumble girls to become rough-and-tumble foulmouthed broad-shouldered women. it’s alright to play at, daughter, they told you, but you have to grow up, and you were confused because you were playing at nothing
the tomboy grew up, nonetheless. and instead of wrestling with friends she wrestled with herself for a while. but despite what they said, here she is, still rough, still wild.
don’t believe the lies, daughter. grow as you need to. allow yourself to be pruned only to become stronger. grow bold and proud, daughter, like the trees that give you shelter, tomboy, wild girl. love the girls you dream of being strong for and the friends who bear you up when the storms shake your roots. there is value in the crabapple trees, wild daughter, even if the orchard-keeper turns up his nose.
know this always, daughter: i love you exactly as you are, and however you need to be
– crabapple girls, a.b.l
