what if she is wild?

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Oh… but what if she is wild?
What if she takes off her mascara at night
tortured
because she can’t find satisfaction in the ordinary?

What if when you ask her to sit still
it hurts
because something in her bones aches
to run?

Maybe her mind isn’t really so messy
maybe coloring in the lines is how we got into this mess
in the first place.

Maybe we need the creative, urgent, emotional intensity of girls
who are born knowing that brushing your hair
is less important than
feeling alive.

Maybe she will grow out of it, and be a beautiful little fool
the best thing a girl in this world can be.
Maybe she could fake it, at least.

But those words were stolen
And the woman who spoke them
almost certainly knew

It isn’t a choice.
The wild ones can’t be tamed
without sacrifice.

Oh..what if she sacrifices?

What if she struggles with this, because you told her
that the chemistry of her brain isn’t quite right
that the wires in her head are tangled and frayed
that she needed to be quiet and calm and less
like a flame
burning, dancing where she pleases
with just a little bit of oxygen
a little room to breathe
reckless abandon
lighting up the dark

you decided she needed to be
less like..that
and more like you.

What if she tries so hard to be equal
she loses what makes her unique?
What if she looks in the mirror at all of her wrinkled tattoos and regrets
never being normal
never feeling like she is enough
What if she tries
and she can’t be anything
but wild.

Oh… but what if she is wild?

“And I hope she’ll be a fool – that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” – The Great Gatsby

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