A Wild Woman Is Not A Girlfriend. She Is A Relationship With Nature.

Can you love me when I drink from the wrong bottle and slip through the crack in the floorboard?

Can you love me when I’m bigger than you, when my presence blazes like the sun does, when it hurts to look directly at me?

Can you love me then too?

Can you love me under the starry sky, shaved and smooth, my skin like liquid moonlight?

Can you love me when I am howling and furry, standing on my haunches, my lower lip stained with the blood of my last kill?

When I call down the lightning, when the sidewalks are singed by the soles of my feet, can you still love me then?

What happens when I freeze the land, and cause the dirt to harden over all the pomegranate seeds we’ve planted?

Will you trust that Spring will return?

Will you still believe me when I tell you I will become a raging river, and spill myself upon your dreams and call them to the surface of your life?

Can you trust me, even though you cannot tame me?

Can you love me, even though I am all that you fear and admire?

Will you fear my shifting shape?

Does it frighten you, when my eyes flash like your camera does?

Do you fear they will capture your soul?

Are you afraid to step into me?

The meat-eating plants and flowers armed with poisonous darts are not in my jungle to stop you from coming. Not you.

So do not worry. They belong to me, and I have invited you here.

You cannot be with the wild one if you fear the rumbling of the ground, the roar of a cascading river, the startling clap of thunder in the sky.

If you want to be safe, go back to your tiny room — the night sky is not for you.

If you want to be torn apart, come in. Be broken open and devoured. Be set ablaze in my fire.

I will not leave you as you have come: well dressed, in finely-threaded sweaters that keep out the cold.

I will leave you naked and biting. Leave you clawing at the sheets. Leave you surrounded by owls and hawks and flowers that only bloom when no one is watching.

So, come to me, and be healed in the unbearable lightness and darkness of all that you are.

There is nothing in you that can scare me. Nothing in you I will not use to make you great.

A wild woman is not a girlfriend. She is a relationship with nature. She is the source of all your primal desires, and she is the wild whipping wind that uproots the poisonous corn stalks on your neatly tilled farm.

She will plant pear trees in the wake of your disaster.

She will see to it that you shall rise again.

She is the lover who restores you to your own wild nature.

 

Vice-versa

Contradictions dwell in my mind.
There's a frequent arm wrestle between love and power, black and white, action and inaction.
The inner voice whispers intentions that I ignore and silence almost instinctively.
I refuse to leave the comfort of inertia to run around chaseing latent failures.

Elusive possible encounters journeying shortcuts tailored to my feet.
I avoid rubbing my eyes, the invitation.
I disbelieve.
I feed on evasions and excuses.

I don't know how to confess my fears.
I can't find a subtle way of asking you to love me because I've become clumsy in the matters of love and praise.

It's not you who can harm me, but the echoes from the past haunting me at night.
That darkness, that frightens me with painful memories of shattered hopes and empty promises.

Indifference digging into my temple. The cries and crannies of my soul. Time and pulse detained in pain. The shame of helplessness.

I do not want promises watered down with coffee, or four-colorrainbows.

I want my solitude loveseat and a set of cutlery for one.
The tranquility always on the verge of an explosion.
My selfish acts.
The refrigerator as empty as my hands.

I want an unpublished love and thousands of endless sex nights.
The restlessness and anxiety of anticipation.

One afternoon for two. A week. One semester.

That you give me back the intermittent tingling time of conquest. The constant smile, the intrepid blinking when I look at you.

I want a guarantee love and loneliness willing to be abandoned.
An exclusive romance.
The blessing of feeling in love again.

A loneliness
One Love
Want
Power
Try
Desist
And vice-versa