In the minutes after she was born, all of the lights came on. We watched her climb the wall of my body and land, exhausted, at the shore of my breast. Under the sharp white of hospital light, they did the weighing and measuring, and she screamed so that every number and value only reached my ears as alive, alive, more evidence of her realness, her presence. She sent howls up into a brightness that must have been like looking at the sun.

I see you walking through the halls with your books pressed up against your chest so uneasy and unsettled. I see you sitting uncomfortably in class extremely intelligent and driven, but bearing the feelings of belittlement and inferiority because of the jokes about your nose and bumps inconveniently distributed on the surface  of your big cheeks and forehead.