Every time a man takes from a woman’s body without her permission, he is disrespecting the womb from which he was born, he is defiling the place that protected him when he was at his most defenseless.
NIKITA GILLTo heal you must forgive your heart, your skin, your body, all of their mistakes.
More Nikita Gill Quotes
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You are a dangerous collection of all my favorite things. An old soul, a heart of gold, and hands that make my body sing.
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Her mother told her she could grow up to be anything she wanted be, so she grew up to become the strongest of the strong, the strangest of the strange, the wildest of the wild, the wolf leading wolves.
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There are graveyards inside you made of people that made you ache, made of memories that you barely survived made of trauma and heartbreak. These graveyards need to become gardens where you plant flowers that blossom, for you to let go.
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Tell them all what they tried to kill came back. Tell them all that I have come home.
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You have belonged better in your own arms than in anyone else’s. Remember you are the softest love you will ever have.
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Perhaps he should have paid attention to the snakes coiled inside me waiting to strike.
NIKITA GILL -
Everyone you love is slowly dying and if you choose not to love them right they will die without knowing.
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She takes her life and starts turning it into something beautiful without him. She learns how to love herself in the most intricate of ways. She goes out and spends time with her friends when she is lonely. She learns to love her alone.
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She didn’t just wait for someone to come and rescue her from her discontent and strife, instead she took matters into her own hands and empowered her own future, her own life.
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Some people will always taste like fire and leave the ones that love them tasting like ash.
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Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them.
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When I held her, I held her gently so that she always knew she could fly away and I would never harm her or clip her wings.
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Why be a half-finished poem in some forgotten poet’s story, when one can be an odyssey in and of herself, part magic, part villain, part Goddess, part lover.
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Perhaps magic is in the habit of choosing sharp-eyed girls who ask too many questions for their own good. Perhaps it chooses girls who are not unloved, but not fully loved either.
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Did the girl choose magic, or does magic choose the girl?
NIKITA GILL