No Matter Where I Am, I Am

Nothing Happened. And Everything Did. Your Whole Life You Can Be Told Something Is Wrong And So You Believe It. Why Should You Question It? But Then Slowly Seeds Are Planted Inside Of You, One By One, By A Touch Or A Look Or A Day Skateboarding In A Park, And They Start To Burst Out Of Old Hulls Shells And They Start To Sprout. And Pretty Soon There Are So Many Of Them. They Are Named Love And Trust And Kindness And Joy And Desire And Wonder And Spirit And Soulmate. They Grow Into A Garden So Dense And Thick That It Starts To Invade Your Brain Where The Old Things You Were Once Told Are Dying.

Flowers Are Reincarnation. They Come Out Of The Earth Of Our Ashes. Nothing Else Looks So Soul-like.

Sometimes She Wore Levi's With White-suede Fringe Sewn Down The Legs And A Feathered Indian Headdress, Sometimes Old Fifties' Taffeta Dresses Covered With Poetry Written In Glitter, Or Dresses Made Of Kids' Sheets Printed With Pink Piglets Or Disney Characters.

Sometimes She Has Imagined What It Would Be Like To Fly, To Live In The River, To Run Like A Horse. She Has Dreamed Of That Freedom, That Power, And Fears The Wildness In Herself That Wants To Live As Beasts Live, Moved Purely By Need And Desire. She Has Felt Torn Between The Heat Of Her Limbs And The Thoughts In Her Mind Telling Her To Be Careful And Good And Always Calm. Don't Scream Or Cry, Don't Run To Him And Throw Yourself At His Feet, Pleading For Him To Take You In His Arms, Don't Strip Off Your Clothes And Run Naked To The Water, Wild With Wanting.

All The Things That Girls Feel They Are Not When They Fear That If They Become, If They Are, They Will No Longer Be Loved By The Sisters Whose Hearts They Have Not Meant To Break. And Besides, If The Sisters Are Gone And Only The Beloved Remains With His Dense Curls And His Lips, How Safe Are You Then? You Have To Have Him Or You Will Die If The Sisters Are Gone With Their Listening Ears And Their Feet To Rub And Their Bodies To Dress And Their Shared Loneliness.