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.