My darling, if there is any concept I would remove from our world,
it would be this:
that you are too much.
That your wild spirit should be chained.
I would bathe your fevered face, dry your tears,
call you to remember:
you are more than the reprimands you learned
(quieten down, cease your laughter, be still, still, still)
for your light flickers and sways, yet stubbornly gleams
– yes, even now, beneath its dampened fuel –
it cannot be crushed by any iron will.
I would say, take comfort:
joy still lives in your heart of hearts
– beyond the embarrassments and the chidings–
it sits where you left it, when you were first told
that magic isn’t real.