A Letter to Maya

Dear Ms Angelou,
I hate to bother you while you're up there singin` and swingin'. So I'll keep it brief.
There is a part of me that does not grieve for you. Only because you have lived a life so full, so rich, painful, but triumphant. Your 86 years with us must have been exhausting, and your poor body just needed the rest. It was your time. I can accept that.
There is another part of me that weeps every time you sneak into my head today.  I feel as if I lost a member of my own family. I know that our backgrounds and lives were completely different. I would never compare my caged bird to that of a slave. However, I must say, you did teach me how to make that  canary carry a tune.
Regardless of race, upbringing, religion, you, Ms. Angelou, are a prime example of the fact that we are all the same in a way. We love, we get angry, we laugh, we yell and scream, we make mistakes. We hurt, we cry, and sometimes we get our innocence stolen. I won't elaborate on that, because I'm sure you already know.
I remember the first time I read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings. I was 14, and it was assigned reading (I wasn't expecting much, I was an angst ridden teenager) But I saw something of myself in those pages. I didn't want to give the book back, so I hid it under my mattress. I read it probably 50 times in two weeks.
I guess what I really want to say is thank you. Thank you for being bold, and putting every piece of yourself out there for the world to see. If you hadn't, I seriously doubt that I could have done the same in the past few months. You inspired me to be bold. Secrets will choke you if you don't cough them up, you helped me get that infection out.
You will never truly die, Ms. Angelou. There will always be a little piece of you in my soul, and I'm sure you will exist in the souls of many others.
Long story short, I want to be just like you when I grow up. 
Now, get back out there on the dance floor. I'll see you at the crossroads.
All my love,
Sarah Kirby