poetry

Wild Girls Like Us Will Not Be Tamed. {poetry}

 

From an early age, the world taught me to bottle up my female sexuality because it was dangerous. It had the power to attract teenage boys and grown men alike.

It was my responsibility to contain, so that I could remain safe.

I was programmed to always smile but not be too friendly, say please, contort my body to attract a man, not be aggressive because fighting is unladylike, believe I was bad at math, too emotional, and the list goes on.

As a good girl, I did what I was told. Not only did I repress my sexuality, but also my voice, my freedom, ferocious kindness, and raging tenderness.

Historically, the archetypal Feminine has been considered dangerous, a serious threat to patriarchy.

Females who expressed themselves in this manner were burned, branded, shamed, silenced, and ridiculed.

But within any liberation narrative, when a group of people has been held down long enough, it has resulted in an eventual season of resurrection.

I believe the season is now.

***

They tell us to shut up,
Stop talking about our feelings,
They don’t matter
in this grown-up conversation.
They say we are chaos.
Destroyers of order.
Shakti dancing on your third eye,
spinning you around in circles,
left dizzy from seduction.
Adorned by a necklace of skulls
erasing everything you knew to be true.
You drank our love and said it was poison.
An addiction.
Out of control. Crazy.
You don’t know where we came from
the wildest ones
who refuse to be tamed.
Your bones tremble with ecstasy
begging on knees to forget us
questioning the very nature of existence.
We broke all the rules
and you broke our hearts open.
We are relentless.
Daughters of rebel warriors.
We give birth.
Cradle them in the arms of death,
cackling at the moon with savage eyes.
We thrive in the liminal spaces.
Transitional. Hurricane winds annihilating antiquated order.
They can’t control us
and so their marrow shivers with regret.
They tell us we are bad.
Girls like us are perilous
We love too intensely.
We protect with an ancient ferocity.
When danger threatens
we claw their eyes out
sinking bloody teeth into flesh.
We are not their enemy.
We came to save, when they were supposed to save us
and maybe that’s why the world can’t understand girls like us,
we turn stories upside down.
Breathing compassion through dragon nostrils
like hellfire
shooting through the veins of a starving nation.
We fight with trickster wit
and fist if we have to,
but lead with the sweet melody of tender, open hearts
We rock the world on our bosom
until everyone has a home.
We see in circles
Breathing acceptance into rigid spaces of right and wrong,
unafraid to bang our heads against
armored walls
Persistent rams
In aggressive pursuit of healing.
We know what a headache feels like
heartaches too
And even still, we wake up in the morning to feed the children.
A formidable tribe of messengers,
We band together
spreading the gospel
of cutthroat intimacy,
sharper than any sword,
wiser then all belief systems.
We measure power in mystery.
divergent theory,
we look into your eyes, and see your soul and
ourselves deeply connected.
We do not stand in prosecution, but in tears
aching for
the vulnerable
the sick
the hungry ones
the lonely
those who think they are never enough
drowning in shameful secrets.
The ones we know too well beneath our very own skin.
We are
The Maiden
The Mother
The Enchantress
The Crone
The Queen
The Warrior
Cycles of blood clearing our vision
to see through bullshit.
Holding your deepest pain
and wrapping our arms around it.
We weep bitterly
gnash our teeth
shake fists to the great unknown.
They say, “Stay quiet, silly girls,”
and we say, “Fuck you,”
with a smile of course,
and when the anger subsides,
the weapon of love annihilates
all those in range.
unleashing a raging flood,
brave enough to sink Noah’s ark
and re-imagine
a new creation story,
no longer two by two,
because we need all voices.
We do not wish to destroy order,
but breathe a pulse back into you,
re-imagining patterns of freedom,
an always evolving kaleidoscope.
We hold hands with fear
and kiss shame on the cheek.
Cages have become too boring
for our feral nature.
We demand liberation
starting with ourselves
and call upon courage to
dive down
spiraling into the depths of Hades
hanging our carcasses on a meathook.
In the silence,
some may celebrate
that wicked witches are dead,
banished to the underworld,
but little do they know,
from the ashes we rise together
stronger, more determined, clear, and inspired,
Indomitable forces.
They couldn’t burn us
So they took our words and shoved us in the dark,
but with an intuitive wink we giggle,
weaving back together visions of light,
Because they were never meant to be separate.
We are sensual. Undomesticated.
Our eternal hands raised up in wonder.
We bask and twirl under an endless blanket of stars.
The sirens will always call.
Because we were born to rise.

***

Angela Meyer is a Washington DC-based writer, teacher of Yoga, women’s self-defense instructor, and competitive martial artist. In addition to movement arts, Angela is also an end-of-life care counselor, Buddhist chaplain, 15-year AIDS hospice worker, and founder of Warrior Woman Republic LLC. She has a deep passion for justice, and loves the grass, the moon, and good beer. You could contact Angela via Instagram or Facebook.

***

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