I will tell my daughter
how good she is—
not of sin
or eternalness.

I will tell my daughter
how free she is—
not of shame
or brokenness.

I will tell my daughter
how light lives in her bones,
not that she was born
already wrong.

I will tell my daughter
she does not need redeeming—
not from herself,
not from her body,
not from modern perversions
spoken by trembling men.

I will tell my daughter
she is not a stain
on holy ground—
she is holy ground.

I will tell my daughter
there is nothing
in her laughter,
her questions,
her wildness,
her wonder—
that needs to be tamed
or forgiven.

I will tell my daughter
she was never the problem.

She was always the proof
that goodness can breathe
in human skin.