By Mia Costales

Towering above me 
as I shrank into the carpet
was a giant woman 
wearing a crown of gold

Her stare pierced my skin
and her clothes were worn
bearing the marks of her life 
both young and old

She forced a half-smile
and knelt down to my level
softly kissing the feathers 
that grew from my arms

Then her smile slowly faded 
and her kisses turned to tears
as she turned her back to me
Revealing her scars

Her expression grew angry
and her voice turned stern
She boomed “Never grow up,”
like the crack of a whip

“For if you do grow up, 
I fear I must warn you,
there may come a time
when your wings get clipped.”

Mia Costales is a senior journalism major and the Life & Arts Editor for The Lumberjack. With a background in music performance, she hopes to combine her love of music and the arts with her passion for localized news and activism to bring thoughtful and informed stories to the public.