on being dirty

insects in my hair. little jagged impressions on my calves from a good long sit in the grass. pink/red/white/beige/golden/brown skin, all at once. scrapes to the shins and arms from thorns climbed through in patches on steep creek ravines, a necessary sacrifice.

feet hardened and dark after so much barefooted glory, trekking through various territories. i never had those angelic-looking feet in the lotion commercials. if i have to wear summer shoes, it's sandals. that's a lot of exposure to the elements, which i'm cool with.

i hate this confinement to finery and polished appearance. why can't i sweat without being scornfully judged? why must i apologize when my body responds to the weather? this is oklahoma, for heavens' sake. if you don't know by now that our summers will get hot and humid, usually both at the same time, then i have nothing to say to you.

and what about that moon? what about her glory? she is a great conversationalist, you know...if you don't fear the night.

/ / / 

this raving and howling you're hearing, it's a craving for the wild. for my roots. we did not come from cement and plastic and chemical hair products. we came from the ground.

i miss when being a human was acceptable...beautiful, even. 

maybe it's just the culture i live in. there are other places that aren't so concerned with façades.

maybe this is what i was named for, where i was named for. it's all so clear now. 'eden' means more than just paradise. 'eden' means home.

René Magritte (1898-1967). The Blank Page, 1967.
(source unknown)


Megan Bullock said...

You're posts leave me breath taken every time. So inspiring! <3

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