some girls

(after Kaveh Akbar)

some girls aren’t born they
simmer into chilled air,
bring divergent heat, and
dare you to speak

some girls aren’t born they
grow themselves from
seedling form between
revolution and regret

some girls aren’t born they
form libraries, and when the
world goes purple they carve
Bolinus brandaris

some girls aren’t born they
act as cymbal for the yelling,
display it convex with their hands
and project out

some girls aren’t born they
stare back at the tie, suit, moral
abyss, and choose to meet
arrogance with defiance