Girl, me too.

As I've been relearning as of yet, there's this special connection between girlfriends that's of vital importance to survival. If you don't have friends you know will have your back no matter what, what's the point? Girls, be unafraid to be badasses. And now, for this beautiful poem from Sandra Cisneros's Loose Women.

Las Girlfriends

by Sandra Cisneros

Tip the barmaid in tight jeans

She's my friend

Been to hell and back again

I've been there too.

Girlfriend, I believe in Gandhi.

But some nights nothing says it

quite precise like a Lone Star

cracked on someone's head.

Last week in this same bar,

kicked a cowboy in the butt

who made a grab for Terry's ass.

How do I explain, it was all

of Texas I was kicking,

and all our asses on the line.

At Tacoland, Cat flamencoing crazy

circles round the pool

player with the furry tongue.

A warpath of sorts for every

wrong ever wronged us.

And Terry here has her own history

A bar down the street she can't

go in, and one downtown. Me,

a French cafe in Austin

where they don't say--entrez-vous.

Little Rose of San Antone

is the queen bee of kick-nalga.*

When you go out with her,

don't wear your good clothes.

But the best story is la Barbara

who runs for the biggest kitchen knife

in the house every bad-ass domestic quarrel.

Points it toward her own heart

like some Aztec priestess gone loca.

!ME MATO!**

I tell you, nights like these,

something bubbles from

the tips of our pointy boots

to the top of our coyote yowl.

Y'all wicked mean, a voice at the bar

claims. Naw, not mean. Shit!

Been to hell and back again.

Girl, me too.

* nalga = butt(cheeks)

** me mato = I kill myself