Tired of the concrete

I wonder if there was a time when a man loved me, not because of my beauty, but because of my humanity. I have this narrative in my head that I must be loved not because of what my hips or my lips offers to the eyes. Yes, I know that I am human and that attraction is an aspect of who we are, but I am also aware that I am a soul. An old huntress of life.

We all need death to live and I often conflicted with this notion. What must I kill so I can live? What life must I pick from the weight of gravity, so that I can continue to have the energy to toil on?

I am not interested in being anyone’s toy or trophy. The truth is I want to live around abundant foliage, just so I can know what it is like to take in beauty, to drink her in with my eyes, to kneel down towards the dirt and plant the seedlings, to water, and to pick, clean, and eat.

The truth is I want to be around my children. The truth is that I want more children and the way that society is set up, I must have income. I must sell myself short. I must stay planted in a institution that I reject cellularly because I was meant to roll in packs. I was meant to roam with wolves and find home wherever the sun cleared enough land for our bellies.

We are so afraid of life, of pilgrimage, and disease that we picket fence our dreams and vaccinate ourselves, so that we won’t die.

It’s not that I want to run away. It’s that I want to run towards something that guarantees my humanity.

I am learning more and more that materialism will not do that. In fact the more we own, the more distant we become from one another. The more clothes you buy, the less you rely on your imagination. The more books you buy, the less connected, you become from your fellow man. And the more homes you buy, the less you trust nature to tell you where you should live.

I’ve always been a wild woman. But, modernization has me afraid to touch base with that energy. Wildness is not drinking, or fucking, or drugs. Wildness is wilderness. It's living with the knowing of thriving with the natural elements. The ones man keeps running away from with all of his inventions.